Living the Questions
Where has that old friend gone
Lost in a February song
Tell him it won’t be long
Till he opens his eyes...
Where have I gone in a year? Where is the old me? She’s lost in a dream somewhere in the past, in years that blur and melt together and can no longer be distinguished. I don’t remember who I used to be, and I don’t quite know who I am. I’m in a place of movement, of transformation, on a threshhold - always moving closer but never quite crossing it. I’m more authentic, but I’m artificial. I’m wrapping myself in every belief and facade and personality in hopes of finding myself in the midst of the masquerade. It’s like I’ve been asleep to myself for twenty years, and I’m just about to open my eyes.
I never want to let you down
Forgive me if I slip away...
I’m dissatisfied with this emptiness. No matter what, I still feel empty. No matter how many people I see, how many friends I talk to, how often I pray, how many books I consult, how many drinks I have, how many words I write, I still feel a gnawing emptiness in the pit of my soul. It’s the curse of being Solomon’s baby. That’s what I am, essentially. I have two families laying claim to me, and I have to decide for myself which one I fit into most. The only problem is, in this story, the real mother can’t stand up, because they’re both legitimate. This division leaves emptiness; sometimes I feel like my soul isn’t really my own. I belong to everyone else but myself, and they’re all depending on me. Stay in college; you’ll be the second one of your sisters to make it all the way through. Your mother didn’t go to college. Your other mother didn’t finish high school. The rest of your sisters dropped out of college. This is your heritage. It’s a lot of pressure; I have a lot of concerns. Sometimes I think they’re too big for me to handle. I’m friendly and sociable and adorable and a good laugh and personable, but very few people know that at the end of the day, late at night when the rest of the world is asleep, I wonder what it would be like if I died. What if I just stopped breathing? What if I gave in right now and ended it all? What if I starve myself and waste away slowly? What if I do it quickly in the dead of night? What if my roommates found me on the bathroom floor the next morning? What would they say, what would they do, and who in my life would care? It would be a mystery and a shock; happy, bubbly, little Rebekah took her own life so unexpectedly. No one saw it coming. But she was so happy, wasn’t she? Nothing ever got her down; no one ever saw her when she didn’t smile. I would probably traumatize everyone. My life would be another statistic, another casualty of the mystery of the human experience. They really should have loved me when they had the chance. They really should have listened. They really shouldn’t have pushed so hard. But it really wouldn’t be any one’s fault but my own; my own and this gnawing emptiness.
I don’t want to let anyone down that way, though. I would devistate people, I know. I can’t be cruel like that, not to the people I love. I’ll destroy myself in other ways instead, until the God of Heaven decides to break through this emptiness and bring some light to my extinguished spirit.
Sometimes it’s hard to find my ground
Cause I keep on falling
as I try to run away
from this crazy world...
I don’t know my beliefs; I don’t really know myself. And I’m okay with that right now. This is a journey, a journey of discovery. I’m supposed to be living questions to lead me into myself, to establish myself, to discover myself. It’s okay not to know things, and it’s okay to question and reject beliefs, to embrace them later when I’m in a place of better understanding. I’m not threatened by what I’m not doing or how I’m not living or truths I’m not believing. I’ll grow into it when the time is right. God is there and I know it. I’m not that far gone. He’s still there and he still listens. I don’t need anyone’s religious spirit to tell me how I should be loving or believing in him. I don’t care about the faith of others. I’ll listen to the ones I’m inspired by, I’ll argue with the ones I’m challenged by, and I’ll ignore the ones I’m angered and condemned by. And I’m okay with that. I’ll find my ground in time.
I’m easing into this. I’ll find the answers out as I live the questions.