[Disclaimer: this is essentially an online journal post. I hope you find yourself in some of the things I say, but this is really the sort of thing I should confine to an old notebook somewhere and not post on the eternal web. If you get to the end and say, “Ruth. That was super boring and I don’t care about your weird feelings,” know that you’ve been warned.]
Life is weird. You may have already known that. People are weird, relationships are weird, jobs are weird, college is weird, fun times are weird. But the weirdest thing of all the weird things is that nothing is weird–I only perceive it as weird. This is life. There’s only one of them. So everything is normal. Life is normal. Somehow, even though this is my first, and only, time through life, it still seems weird to me. Which is weird in itself, because this being my first time through, I shouldn’t really have preconceptions to judge life by–but I do, and when life doesn’t match my preconceptions, I call it weird. But it’s not. It’s actually normal.
I said jobs and college and other things are weird. And I truly think they are. Pretty much nothing I have encountered in my life so far is like I had played out that it would be in my head. But the weirdest thing in life to me is me. I’m kind of complicated. Maybe you are too. I’m not really what I expected me to be. I thought that life should be pretty standard, pretty normal–that I should be standard and normal. But I’m not, and it’s weird.
It’s weird to me that I often find washing dishes more fun than hanging out with people. People can talk, crack jokes, do fun things, provide interaction. Dishes only talk in Beauty and the Beast, and if they crack, it’s not usually a good thing, but for some reason I find their company soothing. I need people, but I want to do dishes. I wish that wanted people and needed to do dishes.
It’s weird to me that rather than familiarity breeding contempt, it actually breeds love. Over and over, with people, tasks, food, colors… I love to vacuum the entire library where I work. There isn’t anything much more relaxing and mind-clearing for me than to spend an hour vacuuming. A year ago, I tolerated it. Now it’s my down time. This has happened more times than I can tell. Why can I change what I like and don’t like? I’m a fluid stream, but I thought I was a rock. I was wrong.
It’s weird to me that I’m never really ready for anything in life. Sometimes I think I am, then I jump into something to realize I have no clue what’s going on. And when I realize I’m not ready is actually when I’m most ready, because somehow acknowledging my unreadiness makes me more ready. Tenacity, not confidence, is my foundation for the future. Some foundation.
It’s weird to me that my mind and my heart still can’t get along. You’d think that after 20 years of living together, they would put up with each other. Bickering children at least pretend in front of their mom to like each other. My conflicting parts don’t even make a show of it. Knowledge and feelings rarely align.
In other words, it’s weird to me that I’m an introvert. But only sometimes.
It’s weird to me that trite sayings don’t govern my personality.
It’s weird to me that I can’t prepare for things that there are no way to prepare for.
It’s weird to me that I’m a complex emotional, physical, spiritual creature.
Pretty much, I’m weird. It really has nothing to do with life at all. Life is a complex creation of God; I am a complex creation of God. Maybe instead of trying so hard to understand, I should step back and allow my breath to be taken away by what he’s making and take comfort in knowing that he understands me when I don’t.