Monday, May 24, 2010

Psalm 18:1

It's so much easier to be confused than to risk doing something difficult, or unfamiliar, or simply less interesting. There's a lot I don't do because it's just not interesting. The reason I have no life-ruling, soul-consuming material passion is because I just could never commit to any one thing. Eventually all things become uninteresting. Especially television shows about plane crashes and smoke monsters. [RIP LOST.] But see, being confused is generally interesting. Because internal mental puzzles gauge everything that exists externally against prior or future knowledge and soul-searching. And that is always interesting. Albeit generally less fruitful than, most things. In short, I spend a lot of time being confused, and I don't really like to, but it's mostly interesting, so I fall into this pattern of confusing a lot.

Conversely, I hate meta-analysis. Meta-analysis is not interesting, and usually just exasperating. It always stops me from understanding, from getting stuff done, consuming me with endless circular questions of little consequence. I have to forsake reasoning and justification, and just open my eyes to see the palace already.

I'm just trying to be normal. Normal? I don't mean, average, or, business as usual, or ordinary, or just like everyone else. By "normal" I mean, as I ought to be. I'm just trying to be as I ought to be. And often this process is confusing to me.

I sent some emails today! I've missed that! I didn't really realize I'd missed it, because usually when I think of sending emails, or writing personal notes of any kind, I think of how laborious and soul-sucking the process is . . . and that's still true. It took me a pretty long time to write what I did today. Writing such things steals all my time and feeling away. Yesterday we sent out support letters for our missions trips, and I was the last person to finish. By a lot. Because it took me fifteen minutes to write each brief little personalized note. I returned home emotionally exhausted.

I don't really know why this is, I'm guessing it has something to do with how I introvert feeling -- I'm irrationally obsessed with sincerity, and it feels sacrilege to write anything that I do not mean completely and fully, and so I agonize over the perfect words to convey my sentiments accurately . . . or at least, struggle to work up the feelings to accompany the words I ought to say. Writing those personal emails is like ripping out a little piece of my guts, like my words are communicating a very part of me and sharing those thoughts and feelings involves severing them from myself . . . that sounds melodramatic, but it is in a way accurate. Isn't communicating a way to show love? Doesn't showing love mean dying to self, and giving it away . . . ?

I think I may have been wallowing in disobedience, shutting my ears to the mandate: initiate, reach out, build, love. I took my parents' suggestion that I dampen communication with my "clique" to mean that I was justified in antisocial behavior. I am free from my fear of people! And yet I continue to cower in the corner of my cell, too lazy to love proactively. It's a process. God is good: to remind me, to enable me, to forgive me. Tomorrow is going to be difficult, remembering to initiate, to live externally as opposed to internally, to live normally, to live as-I-ought-to-be, but attempting to do what is difficult is leagues better than being confused.

"I love you, O LORD, my strength."


Art said...


"Tomorrow is going to be difficult, remembering to initiate, to live externally as opposed to internally" ... so. hard. (because it's still unclear for me)

Kay said...

Thank you for letting me into your mind for a bit, Hayley. Much of this post makes me nod in understanding. Also, I miss you.