a hole in a life
It’s easy for me to see what’s missing. To find the holes in a life, in a story, in a home and quickly want to fill them up. Stuff them full of purpose and meaning, paint over them with something shiny but cheap, and move on to the next huge, gaping hole in the wall.
A hole in a life: How can your life be meaningful if you stay only in one place? How can it be purposeful if you are always moving away?
The answer seems elusive - staying or going. And what’s more elusive is that there is satisfaction to be found in belonging, yet also satisfaction in a new adventure. There is danger to always choosing comfort, and also danger in never being truly known. Will I ever be truly, fully satisfied here? Would I regret it if I ever left? Is it even worth asking the question if you know the answer may never be found?
Like I said; it’s easy to see what’s missing. It’s harder to find what’s already here.
The holes may never be filled; some questions and thoughts may never come to be. But the walls around those holes, the steadiness of life alongside the wonder… Maybe that holds more beauty than answers ever would.
The answer itself: there is hope in dreaming, there is loyalty in the familiar. There is loveliness and whimsy here, albeit not in fancy things or exciting thrills. It’s found in the reliable, daily actions of love that follows a human - the gentleness of touch, the affection behind words, the trickle of laughter, the hope of new mornings. New mornings in the same town with a different heartbeat every season; or the new mornings found in a strange, unfamiliar city with ambiance contrary to your own. There will always be those new mornings, whether it’s in the staying or going. New mornings, new chance for breath, for life, for joy, for acknowledgement of our questions and doubts and purpose. A opportunity for evaluation.