I spent the last week gallivanting around the Emerald Isle in search of forest nymphs and fairies. Instead I found blue-butted sheep and my soul mate.
Let’s be clear here. After a quick calculation of the number of church camps I have been to plus the vacations I have been on, divided by a few bad hair days, he is approximately Soul Mate #49 and shall henceforth be known as Ireland.
Ireland and I started as any normal couple would start. We shared a sultry glance across a crowded room. Then things got pretty intense. We said four sentences while waiting for my parents to finish their drinks. Love isn’t wordy. Then, I did what I am assuming to be a coquettish American giggle followed by some sort of hip flick-y/eye batting combo thing that resulted in his undying endearment. Our connection was beyond conversation….duh….we’re soulmates. (Clearly, those four sentences were mind blowing). It was a whirlwind affair that ended a few short hours after it started.
After 49 similar experiences, I have finally learned not to dwell on these encounters. My imagination makes ‘falling in love’ an everyday occurrence that takes place somewhere in my twisted mind. One particular episode took place after my sophomore year at church camp. I met Flip Flops, who was ‘the most beautiful boy I had ever seen’. We sat together at lunch and during worship, spent our free time playing volleyball and basketball, and did what every church camp couple does….smear each other with shaving cream and pudding during messy day. It was the stuff romance movies are made of. When I got home, I knew I would never hear from him again….but I dwelled on our interactions for days.
When I was younger, I dreaded the days immediately following my return home. It didn’t matter if I left for two weeks on a family vacation or a week to youth camp; I call it the Post Vacation Funk. The Funk has ended all but one relationship that I’ve been in and lead to more tears than I care to recall. It’s like a cloud of depression and discontent fills the void left from the freedom of traveling. For a few short days, I can free myself of the burden of the mundane and live one adventure after another. Ireland was my biggest adventure yet….and the Funk is knocking on my door.
I have my back against the door, holding the Funk at bay as it claws its way back into my life. I thought I was old enough to avoid it, but the inevitable restlessness has settled in. There is no boyfriend to get rid of, no new chapter on its way, only the endless days of work ahead. Is this grass always greener? In this case…yes. I mean it was Ireland. Not to mention that we haven’t seen rain since 2004.
The metaphorical grass is so tantalizing. It lures me in every single time, despite my knowledge of its deception. In my head, my life would be exactly what I want it to be, would encompass every dream, every desire, every facet of my imagination that my current life lacks.
Discontent is a constant battle in my life. It seems that what is at one time exhilarating quickly becomes the mundane in the expectation of newer and better things. Like a pool of water, my life requires a fresh flow to avoid stagnancy.
With the future looming as such a large unknown, I find myself quickly latching onto each new stream that offers a taste of crisp clean hydration, however small its source may be. Whether planning my entire life during a four sentence encounter, or planning a cross-continent move while daily scrolling through the travel sites, nothing in my current situation seems enough to hold my attention for the long haul. What is it about me that needs constant renewing? The answer is simple: my soul, the very essence of my creation is based on the need for revival and transformation, yet daily, I look to other sources of renewal rather than relying on the Source of redemption.
