Terrible, Wonderful: What It Means to Be Human

If we were to line up all of the humans of the world, every human that exists now and every human that came before us and every human that will burst forth into existence after our demise, we would be in that line somewhere. 

Isn't that a belittling thought? We would be in that line somewhere. You... I... people with brilliant, vividly colored lives full of meaning and struggle and difficulty and joy and minute-by-minute experiences of life and what it means to exist... yeah, we would just be one other person standing inconspicuously and unimportantly in that line. We would be just one other story, one other life narrative of birth, breath, and death. Isn't that on one hand incredibly sobering and yet remarkably freeing, almost even... wonderful?

I know it is our tendency to be ego-centric, it makes sense psychologically as we are consciousness running a body and creating a life... we need to be self-obsessed to survive. But isn't it somewhat beautiful to know that there is nothing we are experiencing, nothing that is happening to us or nothing we are doing that hasn't been done before or experienced before? Our society is filled with messages like: "You are worth it, you deserve it. You have something incredible to do, go do it. You can be anything you dream of. Your truth is all that matters, find your truth. Discover yourself." etc. Our society is obsessed with significance. It is obsessed with this idea that everything we need comes from within, from ourselves. It is obsessed with glorifying human attempts at understanding and piecing together what it true about our world and our existence because those are, after all, the only true things (because our self-invented ways of understanding the world are the only things that can prove it, by the way.)

Everything is always about us. And we are sung to sleep by lullabies that spin tales that we must live the life we want to live, do the things we want to do, be the person we want to be, and never let anyone or anything stand in our way. It's no wonder that so many of us in the self-actualized, developed world struggle with crippling anxiety and depression and dissatisfaction with our lives... we have conflated our significance to the point where we can't handle the alternative: We are not the center of reality. And things will hardly pan out with our 'truth.' We won't all be remembered. Our lives will not always look the way we dreamed they would. And even though it feels like a requirement, we don't have to be significant to make an impact on the world. 

We will always have some disappointment, someone will always be better or prettier or smarter or more successful, we will miss out and lose opportunities, we will not get the internship or the job, and we will be left or abandoned or mistreated by someone we love and isn't it a little bit wonderful to know that the whole world isn't going to fall apart just because it feels like it might for us at that one moment? And isn't it amazing that someone, somewhere is going through the same thing and the world will, thankfully, still keep revolving?

This isn't said to diminish our experiences of pain, loss, emotional and mental suffering and disease or even our experiences of joy and victory and success. Because the incredible reality is, even though we are just another person on the great conga-line that is humanity - we are unique. We are each delightful and beautiful traces of God's marvelous image, together reflecting his infinite creativity and character. We are each deeply loved and by some miracle that I will forever be in awe of:

We are known. 

The Great Creator of All knows exactly how I like my bagels (gluten-free, Everything, toasted with cream cheese and smoked salmon) and he knows  every little difficulty in my life, every sweeping joy, every truly painful and catastrophic tragedy I experience and he knows the shows I binge-watch on Netflix, and he knows every embarrassing memory I have unfortunately stored away in full, excruciating detail, and my goodness, he even claims to know the number of hairs on my head which are constantly changing as I shed like a pure-bred Border Collie.

I tell you one thing, I have spent my life looking for someone out there that can look at me, you know... look at ME and truly know and understand the crazy, unique and cosmically-insignificant things, thoughts, aspects, feelings, experiences, and hopes that make me exactly who I am. I have come close in some people, but the reality is, there is no one who has been me; therefore, I am terribly alone in that regard, but I am not terribly lonely.

For I am known by One, and by One who made me at that. I am not lonely, for there are a couple of other humans on that Great Line that have found me and have decided to share in my little, somewhat insignificant experience of this beautiful and wonderful life on this little, somewhat insignificant planet. And even though we don't always understand each other, and we sometimes hurt each other, and we sometimes fail at loving each other - it is a miracle that of all the people that have lined up before, with and after us, we... we found each other. 

Maybe there is something in this... you know, to try and not sweat the small stuff. Because sometimes that is all it is, small stuff. Maybe it is to have grace for myself because nothing I do or don't do comes as a surprise God, and I am, after all, another precious babe in his arms, and he is a wonderful Father. And maybe it is also this:

The world wouldn't fall apart if I wasn't here. But, funny enough, in some small way, it wouldn't be there same world if I wasn't here either. 

And today I think that's enough for me.

But Will It Rain?

It's a lovely April day. The trees and foliage are alive with bursts of red and pink, their leaves a stark contrast of electric green against an uneasy sky. Is it going to rain? Heavy grey clouds move in a coordinated dance across a blue backdrop, a reminder that life can somehow contain the dark, grey and ugly even as it holds the beauty and clarity of an unbroken sky, sometimes in the same day.

Well, it's another coffee shop. Another big room filled with rickety tables and overpriced and over-roasted caffeinated beverages that somehow make me feel like I am satisfying the inexplicable thirst that never really goes away, though if I sip on an iced latte with just enough nuttiness, maybe I can forget about it for a moment. My faux-leather bound journal is next to me with it's creamy, slightly yellow pages just begging for me to drag black ink across it in a series of lines and curves that will miraculously communicate a message or personal sentiment when I add a period or a question mark at the end. I will fill a few pages with the ramblings of my inner world , and I will act like it is a new thing - a new experience, a new idea, a new thought, but it will really just be the same existential reality, dread, question, and demand just written a little differently and perhaps a little more haphazardly.

I will look around the room, gazing at unfamiliar faces that somehow feel familiar. A couple will look into each other's eyes like they have discovered the very piece that will complete the puzzle they have been putting together for the duration of their lives even though five years from now, they will sit at the same table arguing about money or who is going to pick up the kids when the new job comes through and completely forget that for one moment, long ago, they sat here basking in the wonder and awe of having felt understood and known, unafraid of what the future might hold. A man will type away at his laptop, checking his Apple Watch every few minutes for some email or message that will undoubtedly collapse his entire existence into disarray and chaos, though honestly, he secretly hopes and pines away for that exact moment, because somehow the horrible drama of it all will make him feel alive. A barista will tousle his hair in the shimmery reflection of espresso machine, because it is necessary for his hair to look disheveled and slightly undone, but only in a way that looks natural and unforced, which of course, requires extensive effort on his part.

And I will sit here. Looking out at the bustle of humans walking their children and their dogs and their spouses to some wonderful, mysterious destination that I will assume is better than the one I headed toward. Because after all, this is just a different version of the same day I have always lived - I may change slightly... become more or less cynical depending on the environmental circumstances, or I may have more money to spend on pricier coffee because I decided to budget that month, or I may be worried about some terrible meeting that most likely be far less drastic than I thought it would be... but it feels like the same story. Over and over.

But will it rain? I don't know. That is one thing I can't say for sure. It definitely looks like it just might, but honestly, it could go either way at this point.