Unassigned
Someone once told me something about life that made a lot of sense. A tad bit cheesy, perhaps (but when do I ever resist anything having to do with cheese?), but it made sense. And I like when things make sense.
I don’t remember exactly how they said it and I’m sure it is more eloquent than I can recall, but the gist of it was that life resembles a stained glass window. Full of colors and intricate design, its pieces woven together to create something beautiful. Our job, they said, is to maintain a perspective that allows us to see the big picture while also appreciating the small, colorful pieces that make it worth looking at.
I wonder what my face looked like when I heard this. I think, at the time, I had tuned out after hearing “life is like a stained glass window” so I just sort of nodded and put on my ‘I’m totally listening and into what you’re saying and it’s so deep that I’m speechless’ face that allows me to just squint my eyes, shake my head and say “wow” when I don’t have anything intelligent to say.
And, no, I don’t do that a lot. Okay, sometimes. But not a lot. Usually I listen. Most of the time.
The reason I even mention this sentiment is because lately I have been craving the big picture; really longing for the completion of the artwork; the arrival to wherever it is I expect to arrive. Yes, I recognize the small, colorful pieces; I am journeying in the journey and progressing through the progress.
But I just want to arrive. I’m ready for everything to fit into place, for all of the parts to assemble themselves into a cohesive, stunning portrait.
Wouldn’t that be nice?
And the thing is, I continually convince myself that I have arrived. In work, in love, in faith, in countless areas of my life, I convince myself that I have reached the pinnacle and final stage. I get to a point in different aspects of my life where I think, “Yep, here I am, I’ve done it. I’ve arrived. Should be smooth sailing from here.”
Wrong – again – Lyndsay.
For example, recently in my professional life, in a company that I deeply believe in, where writing is a key element in my position, and where the money is finally sufficient, and the people are fantastic, I believed that I had arrived. I was exactly where I wanted to be.
And then reality set in. And I ran into a few road bumps. And I remembered that I am 26-years-old and there is no way my life will look exactly like this for the next 50 years.
Duh, Lynds.
So why is that our tendency? Is it laziness? A desire for rest and consistency? An aversion to change and the turmoil that comes along with it?
Call it what you will, but I see it happen to me all of the time. I want to have it all together. I want to know what is going to happen tomorrow. I want to know the ending to the story and sometimes, to be honest, I am tired of the journey.
But isn’t this what life is about? Learning, growing, struggling, changing, traveling? The answer is yes.
And so in these moments I think of whoever it was that told me that sort-of cheesy anecdote about a stained glass window and remind myself that with each new stage of life, with each new job, with each new discovery, with each new love, comes another piece to arrange into art. Some of the pieces are dark, some are bright and colorful, but together, they really do tell a story. My story. And when I get real with myself, I remember that despite the setbacks and the frustrations of the journey, despite my desire to know how it all turns out, there is still much to be discovered about this story and I’m not done telling it just yet.
