Sitting here eating Cruskits pondering life.
It’s funny what we think of when we’re alone, isn’t it? Or maybe when we’re with other people feeling lonely.
Do our minds go to the ‘big’ things or the ‘mundane’ things, the love or the loss, the past or the future?
I’m thinking about life sitting here by myself, and I’m realising that it’s possible to sit and think without having a revelation. I have nothing new to share with you, only that I have a million things going through my mind and I can’t decide where to settle.
Do I tell you something smart or witty in the hopes that you’ll like my blog post? Do I tell you my heart in the hopes you won’t judge it?
Do I tell you the ‘big’ things, like my relationship with God? My prayer life is stronger than it’s been in a while, and I’ve started reading the Psalms again. I’m choosing to spend more time simply resting in God’s presence instead of stressing, which is kind of working I hope.
Do I tell you the ‘mundane’ things, like how I need to remember to set my alarm for tomorrow or I’ll sleep in? Seriously. Maybe I should set it now, while I’m remembering.
Do I tell you the love? I have so many good relationships in my life right now, I should probably thank God more than I do.
Do I tell you the loss? Because some relationships had potential but now they’re nothing but quickening my pace and hoping you won’t ask me how I am.
What about the past? I keep replaying all these memories over and over. That time we laughed in the hallway until my heart was going to burst out of my chest. That time you braided my hair just because you had the time. Do you remember them?
What about the future? People keep asking me what I want to do with my life. I tell them I don’t know, and they tell me to pick something, what I would do if I could do anything. I still don’t know, but I don’t say that because I know they want an answer. So I tell them astronaut, firefighter, hairdresser, ballet dancer, just like we did when we were five. Why isn’t “I don’t know” a good enough answer?
In high school it was like that too. Sarah, what’s the answer to this maths question? I say I don’t know. The teacher looks at me and asks again, telling me to look carefully at the question. I am looking carefully at the question and I still don’t know the answer. Maybe if you had made sure I learnt it in the first place I could tell you. The teacher sighs and gives out more homework. Maybe the homework would be more effective if the answers weren’t at the back of the textbook.
I have Cruskit crumbs everywhere now.