on wanting

stones

perhaps my least favorite part of the human experience. it’s nuances unique to the individual and in privileged society, preyed upon at almost every turn. in print and on any. available. screen. often in ways so subtle we hardly pause to consider it’s consequences. comparison’s best companion. the enemy of contentment and a thief of joy. a distraction from those among us in need. i’ve grown more aware, and subsequently more tired, the older i’ve gotten. becoming more selective of the magazines i choose to read or the online accounts i choose to follow. if it only encourages fixation on what i imagine my life to be lacking, why would i continue to let it?  what will be left when i’ve drawn my last breath? nothing i’ve coveted, of that i’m almost certain.

as of late my wanting has been somewhat tempered. the loss of certain things has forced life into focus in painfully beautiful ways. blurred bits of my heart’s desire are now so clear. all but one feels within reach. simple, slow dreams. but wholly mine. it has been nearly three years since we decided we’d like, together, to be parents. in those years we have watched many couples around us become pregnant, swell with and deliver new life. some more than once. even worse, we’ve heard unimaginable stories of harmed or forgotten children in the news. i’ve wept and i’ve raged. i’ve carried the wanting like a stone in my pocket.turning it over and over and over and asking why. all the time, why. i can’t any longer. the stone is too heavy, the thievery of joy too great.

as we enter a season of giving and are relentlessly bombarded with the message of more, i invite you to lay down your stones. it doesn’t matter how big, small, or many in number. if it makes you feel like less. if it blurs the view of all you have in front of you. even if it hurts. it’s okay to let them fall from your fingers. you have enough. you are enough. the best gifts we can give each other now are our voices. honest, encouraging, just, and vulnerable voices.

 

 

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