I Know I'll Understand Someday

As my life gets busy and my high school days begin to wind to their final round, I find that there are a lot of things I wish I could do.

I wish I could dedicate myself wholly to my writing. I wish that the words would come as easily as they did four years ago, when I finished books in months and could write for hours without stopping. I wish that I could give my characters the time they so desperately need to develop and grow instead of clumsily moving from one to the next and buying them off with memes and quizzes. I wish that I had the time and energy to take every wisp of story in my mind and capture it in words, whether they be part of a poem or a novel. I wish that I could just sit back, breathe, and write. Like I used to.

I wish that I had more time for my art. Painting has become my obsession--the colors are so real and vivid. But I have no time to dip my brush into a spot of paint and run it across a blank canvas. I have no time to sit and think of concepts for paintings that speak to my soul with their colors and textures. I have no time to experiment, to learn by failure, to mix colors to find the perfect shade, to use every brush and notice a difference. I have no time to go to the store anymore and just stand in the aisle and breathe in the subtle smell of paint, or marvel at the canvas that's bigger than me. I wish that I could just slow down, breathe, and create. Like I used to.

I wish that I had more time for my reading. I love to read. I wanted to read every book ever written when I was little. Now I'm working on it, but not in the way I want to. I snap up a chapter here and there, always distracted, never focused on the words, the voice, the author. I try to rush through because "lots of classic books look good on a transcript", not because they develop my mind. I wish I could find a book I love and curl up, just to read. I wish I could enter back into the worlds I once knew, the worlds where I felt everything the author meant for me to feel and not just the superficial emotions I know now. I want that again. But I've forgotten how to find it. Or so it seems.

I guess I want to live again, or live life as I once knew it. I want to have the whole day to myself, to do the things I want to do, without all the confusion of school and responsibility and the pressures that I feel now.

But you know what I'm realizing?

I am living.

It's not the life a twelve year-old girl with straw-blond hair and braces lived. That life has been lived. It's a memory--sweet, haunting, sometimes even trailing on into the life I'm living now. But I am living. As I sit here, wishing for the things I once knew, the life I have is passing me by. There are new chances out there for me, things I never even knew of when I was twelve. They're not the same as the chances I had back then. But they are once in a lifetime chances, chances I'll never get to chase again.

The old things linger on--I still write when I can, paint when inspiration floods my mind, and read when I have a spare moment. I'll always have my passions. I am a writer, an artist, a reader. I'm a person who loves to draw and sing and walk outside on crisp fall days. I love chocolate and the warmth of a horse's breath on my fingers and taking random pictures and making beautiful memories. Those aren't things that are ever going to pass me by. Those are what make me me. They'll always be there, even if it seems like they're fading away.

All these thoughts that have been spinning around in my mind reminded me of the verses in Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

 A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

 A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

 A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

 A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

 A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

Maybe I'm not "dying" and beginning a new life without the things I've loved ever since I knew they existed. Maybe this is just a time of transition, a time when those things can't play as large a part in my life. Maybe this has been God's plan for my life all along.

 Seasons change. They transition. Trees lose their leaves in the winter, but the leaves always grow back in the spring.

Maybe it's not the time you wish you had, but the time you're given that really matters.

In fact, you know what?

I know it is.

And that's all the writing I've done today.

And for once, it's okay.