I feel like I’m stuck in limbo, a no place, a nowhere. I drive between our home in the country and where we live in the city and feel comfortable in neither place. Though my people, my things, my memories are housed in our rented two-bed-semi in the city, my dreams, my life, my mind is living in the house with plaster dripped out over the floor.
I have an overwhelming desire to clean, tidy, sweep it. I want to paint the walls and lay the floor. I want to sit at my desk and study. I want to cook and slide my fingers across the kitchen counter. I want to skip down the stairs and swing towards the living room, my hand gripping the banister. I want to carry Josh into bed and tuck him in. I want to do sun salutations facing the morning rays.
I guess I want a lot of things, but as I drove home from the site today, I passed an old friends home. A friend I haven’t seen in over 10 years. There was a funeral happening at the house and I wondered who had died. I later found out her father had passed away.
What purpose is there in all our wants, when one day our lives are folded up?
There is no harm in striving for better, in reaching for a goal, in fighting for our passions, but the essence of our being has to be about our people, our relationships, our community, our spirit.. the rest is just wall paper.