"Before we talk commitment
Let me tell you of my past
All I've seen and all I've done
The things I'd like to forget
At this point in my life"
-Tracy Chapman
As hard as I find it to believe, the year is already halfway over. We find ourselves at a "high-noon" of sorts, and after this, it all starts to slowly descend on the horizon.
This week marks ten years since I left the southwest and moved the farthest I've ever lived from home. It's hard to admit but after so many moves, I simply stopped unpacking. stopped trying to make places into homes and stopped trying to let roots settle beneath any surfaces they would inevitably be ripped from in another year's time.
Tonight I drove to a friend's house and delivered as many flattened boxes as I could fit in my car. Eight months and my living room still looks like I'm just moving in. Four more months and I will be renewing a lease I didn't expect to see come back my way. Honestly, I expected to be somewhere else by the time October rolls around.
This is not to say I'm unhappy by any means; I love this place. It's just... surreal. "Home" is a four letter word. I have no idea what it's supposed to mean anymore and yet, I chase just the same as Donovan tries to catch the wind. It's silly. I live out of boxes so I can bolt out the door at any minute, but I try desperately to make four walls feel like my own. In a way, I've set myself to perpetually lose. Constant failure becomes a familiar comfort... until the boxes are gone. Until you have no more "escape routs" in which to pack your belongings and run for the next town over.
I can never surrender all my boxes because I sure by now He knows, deep down in my heart I still can't trust God enough to believe He'll ever give me more than just a moment's rest. He knows it's nothing personal.... we're working on it.
But the problem with boxes is that you hide things and forget about them. You hide your past and over time... I've discovered I've lost so many parts of myself buried in the dust of far-back closet shelves. It takes 8 months to loosen my grip and then I have four months to think about where I have to go next.
It's hard to fall in love when I know these walls won't last. But if I don't try... what's the point of living,
I promised my friend I'd bring her more boxes in two weeks. I don't have any let to spare. This means I'll have to unpack more of my life. Put more of my roots in soil. Put just a little more faith in God. When boxes become too important, you find yourself boxed in to your own little world. I've come too far to give up now.
Maybe someday I'll finally stop running... and remember who I am.
