I’m up late; I don’t know why. Why am I such a fool to think that I could have progressed with my life, when I don’t even have a clue what I should be accomplishing in the first place? Two years ago, I contemplated these same questions and dwelled over these almost exact thoughts, but, yet, I didn’t actively pursue any goals.
I sense a yearning from the depth of my soul, but I’m unable to process the meaning of the signals that I trust are from my God. I earn a living doing what I do best, but is that enough, and if it is enough, why do I get the sense that it’s not enough – maybe because I’m asking the same questions over and over… I’m over forty, and yet, in my mind, I’m no older than I was when I turned eighteen, hell, even fifteen. Sure, my knees hurt a lot more, and when I fall, it sure seems harder to get back up, but…
I don’t know where I’m going with this. I’m taking a class at church that I hope will give me the answers that I’m searching for, that I’ve been searching for since I can barely remember, to a time when I was a little boy, swinging in my parents backyard, looking up at the sky, wondering what was beyond those clouds, feeling the chains twist in my hands, my feet brushing the ground as I yanked my legs in harder to thrust the swing higher, often leaning back so far that my head almost touched the ground, yes, even back then, I believe I remember those thoughts of what is life about; where was I before my time began?
Does everyone search for the meaning of life until time has run out on searching? I guess some people must still be looking, otherwise, I would be the sole person in the class, but I’m not, and is the only reason the class isn’t full with every Houstonian because people only avoid the question, pretend it doesn’t exist, and then get by with what life has bestowed upon them? Do people just learn to be happy? That’s not quite right. Not that they learn to be happy but they learn to be – not sad.
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