Yes, I’ve been thinking too much again. I’ve dove right into the pool — much more appropriately a puddle — of my thoughts that I assumed to be shallow but unveiled itself to be an abyss as soon as my fingertips skimmed the water. The inky water wet my hair through, and I have yet to reach the glimmer of the surface to take a long, fulfilling, gasping breath.
I’ve ruminated ceaselessly this week. On so much. Mostly, I’ve been down and morose thinking about how little control I have over my life. Every single fantasy of luminous happiness seems an inch out of grasp. There always seems to be one small component of that particular formula for joy that seems to be missing or unobtainable, whether it be a visa or finances or a loved one that cannot be there concurrently. It reminds me how small I am. How infinitesimal! How tiny! How minute!
I was speaking to my former English teacher from the ship, Jolie, whose husband is an incredible traveler on a journey to touchdown in every single country in the world before the age of 35 (his book just recently got released! Go here for more information on him and The Art of Nonconformity!), and who herself is an amazing artist, knitter, writer, and beautiful person (Website!). We were talking on Skype (I kiss the feet of the creators of this communication tool still), and she told me “Do what makes you happy, Grace.” I deliberated on this statement the whole day. That evening, my mother and my brother — the one volunteering in Thaliand — arrived at my flat. My mother and I shared the bed, and we stayed up drowsily speaking on profound matters close to the heart. My mother has the uncanny ability to sense a heavy heart. She spoke on this and on that, edifying me with sharp, succinct statements. My mother then said “Grace, God just wants you to be so, so happy.” How could I not let the tears slip? They found their way to my temples, gently dampening the fringes of my hair.
I feel very lost lately.
But not without hope. Without hope, I am nothing.
I never leave these entries with a satisfying denouement, and I apologize.
I’m off to henna my hands.
[On: Tell the Truth (Live) by Ray Charles]