Not Content

for Spano

I'm not content to believe that this is all there is.

I'm not comfortable in the reality that my brain has stretched as far as it can go, that I have discovered all of the things I need to discover, or that the perspective of the world I currently hold is one I could sit peacefully with for a lifetime.

I'm not copacetic enough to believe that I've found anything even remotely like faith, except to say I have faith that someday I will have faith, in something. An idea, maybe, or a way of living. Most likely not a doctrine or any antiquated idea. But then, who knows?

I don't believe that I have yet found my calling, or my place in this world. I also don't believe that it will fit neatly into any predetermined square. I believe I will have to carve out a life for myself amongst the far stretches of what other people deem to be "normal" or "anticipated," and that I'll carry pieces of this life from far corners of reality to assemble my own reality.

I don't believe I have made peace with any of these things, so anxious am I to have all of the answers right now.

I don't believe that the best of me has yet surfaced. I don't know if it's hidden somewhere within, waiting to bubble up sometime around my thirty first birthday to surprise me just when I'd come to grips with the idea that all hope was lost. Or maybe it's out there, somewhere, and it will become my mission to find it, to coax it inside.

"What if all of our dreams had come true by 28? What, then, would we do to fill the next fifty years?"

I'm not content to believe this is all there is, but I am content to believe it isn't.