I tend to observe others.Traits, what they excel at. Personalities.
Some could call it insight. I just know people fascinate me. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of meeting new people, and getting to know more about someone.
There is an indescribable beauty that lies between the layers of ourselves. When we let others into those interwoven fabrics, true discovery – complete allure multiplies beyond countability.
I count myself particularly lucky when I can discover a person’s strength. Or many strengths, as is usually the case. It’s a silent honor to see someone’s giftedness. I cheer them on, sometimes audibly, sometimes just inside – unable to help from smiling in every way. I don’t know if I can describe the jubilation in noticing something that special. Someone’s uniqueness.
I’m not good at a great many things.
I do not say this lightly, nor flippantly.
I do not want disagreement or consolation.
I say this…because it helps the message I am trying to convey overall.
I see some who are brilliant in books – in learning – naturally soaking up information, effortlessly turning that knowledge into proof on paper or articulation in speech.
I see some who are staggering in numbers. Instantly converging what most would count as an impossible language of theories, proofs, digits – and transforming them into works of art. Symphonies that only a pristine level of people can fully grasp, hold tightly inside and then unfurl them to others in hopes that the charm they notice in full can be somehow understood among many.
I see some who can create magic from notes, instruments, voices and endless vibrato. Poems without words, but with melodies and harmonies so variant it is transcendent of explanation.
The point is…in this unending world of centuries, cultures, and people as individually distinctive as fingerprints, people have their own ways of bringing something completely new to the table.
Even those who may tuck anything lovely deep inside dark corners, at one time even they held sublimeness within.
I can find myself envying gifts I was never given.
- I can’t do math in my head (even the simplest equations sometimes – embarrassingly true).
- I can’t inspire others with a speech – my instantaneous verbal skills have been often (and are usually) quite humorous. I’ve given many people a reason to laugh (greatly) at the things that somehow find their way out of my mouth without thinking.
- I can’t draw or paint, though I’ve always longed to.
- I can’t dance emotions so deep that the entire body must communicate with every muscle and sinew in agreement to speak.
- I could never get good grades easily. Even when I tried, truly tried, I could still fail or barely scrape by, depending on the subject. And taking tests…not a strong point either. It’s a bit miraculous I got into college. You don’t want to know my SAT score. God pulled serious strings on that one.
Still…what benefit lies in wishing for what isn’t there?
Ah, and therein lies the clincher.
Wishing for what isn’t there will provide many conclusions – yet barely any will be felicitous.
Wanting what isn’t, rather than seeing and appreciating was is…that is a life despondently wasted.
And I point the finger directly at myself with that fact.
“Hear that Leigh?
It’s a squandering of precious time –
the thoughts you give away on wishing for what isn’t.”
The thing of it is – what started all this inner dialogue –
there is something I surpass at: I donate too much of myself away.
I distribute pieces and pieces of who I am to everyone I meet.
Call it bribery, call it desperation, call it effortless or haphazard. Call it stupid.
Yet I am actually calling it something. I’m seeing it. I’m naming the painful truth.
I long to dig deep. To know another beyond surface. Surface is suffocating. Doesn’t anyone else notice that? So in attempts to live beyond the top layer, I dive in without oxygen. I invest my emotions right at the beginning.
Caring too much –> guilty as charged.
With pretty much everyone.
Which makes the pain all the more blinding when the knife of rejection, two-facedness, or flippant disposal slices into this already thin skin.
Sometimes I am the four year old on the playground wondering why the other kids don’t like her.
Sometimes I am the broken spirit asking a question that never seems to have an answer – what is it about me? What did I do wrong this time?
It’s unattractive, yes.
It’s uncomfortably sad, I know.
But it is hurt so real the lungs collapse under the strained breath.
It’s then, where I truly – loudly – gravely wish for what isn’t.
No matter my flaws.
Only One can love me
with fervor warrior-worthy and vibrant.
And that’s because He is capable of such perfection. He possesses no flaw to hinder the unabashed ability to cherish. To captivate a treasure without cloudy perception.
All I’ve ever wanted from everyone – is completely attainable… by only ONE.
So then the glorious amorition* given me is the gift of receiving the ‘want’ I want. That ‘it’ doesn’t have to be an ‘isn’t’. I need only change my audience.
I have the ‘what’, but I can confess that I haven’t conquered the ‘how’. I will continue to plunge the depths without air sometimes. I will, again, feel devastation when I’m met with the contempt, ignored and cast off. It will happen again probably even in the next few days.
I cannot stop that.
But I can stop – I can change – my expectations.
I can stop wanting what was never mine to attain,
and instead collect the bounty of my inheritance destined.
I can give myself that goal. I can ask for the strength to head into battle – into the abyss – properly equipped. I can begin anew, each day.
I can live under my wildest dreams…and consequently I will have found my greatest strength. I will then realize, I’ve always had the best Strength.
And it never even came from me.
It was given.
And it is mine to keep.
(*By the way, amorition is a word I made up to describe the ability to living and embodying amore [love]. The power of the act. Sometimes I make up words when I get too excited and can’t seem to find a real one to say what I want to say.)