It’s one of those days where I don’t even know what to write. I wrote a chapter in The Meaning of Always and half a chapter in Acceso; that’s not the sort of writing I mean. Blog-writing. I have so many thoughts today that I don’t know how to calm them down, put them in single file, and get them organized. It isn’t because anything in particular has happened; just school and writing and priorities and music and coffee and a new blue sweater. The usual, lovely, confusing bits of life.
Frequently, I feel like I’m more than one person. Like I’m actually dozens of people, all who have their share in what I say, look, do, think and feel. Not in a bipolar, multiple-personality-disorder way, though; just in a ‘this is how it is’ kind of way. What makes me cry one day makes me laugh another. I think it’s like Ernest Hemingway said, ‘Writers aren’t actually people, they’re a whole bunch of people trying to be one person’ – though I don’t think it always just counts for writers.
I know some people who are as steady as a rock. You always know how they’ll react and you love them for their predictability. You can always count on them. I am not that person. Mom has said before that I’m very hard to read. I find myself unpredictable. I don’t know what will make me cry or laugh. I don’t know why I find this funny and that completely boring, why this excites me and that makes me want to curl up in bed and go back to sleep. Some days I feel like wearing a cozy pastel sweater with leggings and pearls and putting my hair in a bun and running on lists, and some days I feel like wearing all black with studded, black accessories and shoes and leaving my hair to do whatever it wants to.
Some days I feel like writing something happy and romantic that makes me sigh and feel good, and some days I feel like writing something gut-wrenchingly sad that makes me cry and even depresses me a little. Some days, people’s words sting like poisoned arrows even though I try not to show it, and some days I can tease and banter back and forth until the cows come home. Some days I want to listen to happy, perky music and some days I want to listen to darker, sad music. Some days I don’t even sing in the shower, which is unusual for me. (I have a mental playlist of Shower Songs. I don’t know why, but they always seem to come out in the shower).
Some days I want to surround myself with people and chat with three dozen of you in one day and call five different people and write a million letters, and some days I just want to be left alone. Some days I want to read Frankenstein and some days I want to read Winnie the Pooh. I find myself confusing, but no matter how confusing I am, I’m okay with it.
I guess, really, that’s life. Life isn’t one long stretch of black and white; it’s a riot of color and noise and sound and texture. It would be awfully boring if it wasn’t. The only steady thing is God; no matter how disoriented and chaotic my life can be, public or private, He is always there to hold me and laugh with me and show me things to enjoy and help me share His joy with others. So if you feel like you don’t know which way is up and your life has become a kaleidoscope you can’t make sense of, it’s all right. Don’t worry about it, because that’s life.