Sometimes, people get jealous of your focus. They wish they had it for themselves.
I was thinking recently about identity and how really, all of us know who we are, with certain kinds of people. I know who I am around my parents. I know those kinds of people. I know who I am at work, with my co-workers. I know who I am when I’m with my closest friend. But then there are the spots in between. The cracks I slip through. It gets harder, as you get older, to find “you” with respective peoples. The game keeps changing. Does that make sense?
I wrote a post awhile back last year. I think I talked about how sometimes when you see someone your heart says: oh! there you are.
I’m not sure if my heart made that declaration I would even recognize it. The game has changed. Do you understand?
In society there is this direct correlation between knowing who you are and not knowing who you are. Okay? Like, if you know who you are then you can’t fall short. That’s like the unspoken expectation we’re all going along with.
For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.
I moved out here with so much stuff in my car. Like seriously, if I opened either passenger door there’d be panties galore on the pavement. I don’t have as much clutter in there now, but there’s still a lot. There are some stained shirts I no longer wear, shoes that I still do. There’s a plastic chick my boss got me for Easter. There were earrings inside of it when she gave it to me.
There’s a stuffed dinosaur I got from summer camp. There’s Trivial Pursuit. There’s optical how-to’s and reindeer antlers and possibly more underwear and it’s really just all pieces.
Pieces, of a well lived life.