I couple months back I read a book called, "So Long, Insecurity" by Beth Moore. That book made me laugh (out loud even at times), cry (a deeply painful sob), hope (for better tomorrows and better todays), and yearn (for more after the last page). The book had such an impact on me. I felt closer to myself after I read it, but also closer to other women, and before you misunderstand me, I mean I felt closer in that I understood motivations more. You see, I am downright scared of new environments. I am scared of meeting new people, even if we had met years before. I am scared of saying the wrong thing, being the wrong person, not having big enough dreams, a big enough house, nice enough clothes, perfect enough children. This book took me past that, and for the days and weeks after reading it I felt almost this ethereal sense of kindredness with womankind. In such, I felt that in the end we could all sit around and sing kumbyah and share cocoa, you know, the kind with the little marshmallows in it. However, something happened. Time happened. The lessons I learned in that book, those thought provoking truths, and the full realization and acceptance of repressed memories that I finally let loose, disappeared. They faded almost as quickly as the words were read in the first place. Why?
That is what is on my heart today; why? Why, when a lesson is learned, especially the really good ones, is it next to impossible for them to remain learned? What is it that I fear so much that a word so simple, yet so guilt laden, can make me run for my Kindle just to be enveloped in the warmth of a book that I have already read? I think the answer is the question itself, fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of not really knowing the who I am meant to be, but still chasing the shadows of the personifications I've created for myself. Please don't misunderstand me. I have had many opportunities, I have received more blessings than I am worth, but in the end, am I who, what, and where I am supposed to be? These thoughts seem so familiar as I look back, in my mind's eye, to my teenage self. I had so much ahead of me, so much I didn't know and yet, I longed for it. Now, twice as many years later I see that I know more, and have more, but am still in that place where I am looking forward into the expanse of life and am just as confused and scared and full of longing for what is to be.
I don't mean for this to be melodramatic or dripping in "whoa-is-me-ness", but simply a reflection of where I am and where I go when I forget a deeply moving lesson learned. Perhaps I have missed the boat in its entirety and the answer is not the question itself, but rather contentment and acceptance.