The Search

I see myself as a searcher. I suppose I always have been. Then again, I suppose we all are.
We’re the same when it comes to this. We’re all searching — even when we find what we want, we still look, we still question and we still wonder.
Life is evolving. It never stops. Like it or not, life keeps moving regardless to the plans we make. Either way, it’s true. Life is a journey. It’s a quest. I believe this with all my heart and so should you.

Nevertheless, my search has changed throughout the years. Then again, I have changed too. We all change. But either way, we still search. And me, I’m searching for something different now. I search every day. I’m still looking to find meaning. I’m still trying to find that thing we call destiny because as far as I can tell, even destiny changes.

I am looking for my purpose. I want to find my place in the scene I’m in. I have questions. Sometimes I wonder if the place I’m in is the place I’m supposed to be. Then again, it has to be, right? Why else would I be here if I’m not supposed to be, right? And everyone says there’s always a purpose. They say there’s a reason for everything, which I agree, there is. I know there is. I’ve been told there’s a plan for everything. I’ve been told to be patient. Then again, haven’t we all been told this at one point or another.

And here we are, exactly where we’re supposed to be. All of us moving, some of us getting along, some of us fighting, some of us miserable, some of us smiling and some of us are getting through, which reminds me of a letter I sent out of frustration that began with the words, “Dear Mom.”

It is autumn now and the season is in full effect. The Canadian geese fly overhead in their formations, honking their goose calls as they make their way to someplace unknown. I see this with wonder in my heart and wonder if you see the same thing as me. Is the sunrise as magnificent? Are we as beautiful? What are we to you? No, really, I want to know.

I understand this is different from my usual notes that I send. I give you that. Then again, I never liked the writers that write their thoughts as if theirs is more educated than anyone else or their world is perfect. Me, I loved the writers that showed beauty in emotion, even when the emotion might be seen as sad or intense; I always loved the writers that could paint a picture. Well, this is my picture today from a window with autumn mountain views.
Why hide this anymore? Why not just write honestly without regard for the critic that never dared.
Instead, I would rather be honest. I would rather be real. I would rather be like you, human, and I would rather be open and bleed out loud than lie about this and cover my wounds to live in silence.

We are taught from a young age to hide our scars.
We are taught to keep our cards close to the vest.
“Don’t let them see what you’re holding.”
“Keep it to yourself.”
I keep things to myself too but not all that I keep to me is beneficial, if you know what I mean.

This why I say I would rather be me. This is why I say I would rather bleed out loud. I would rather them see me coming then hide and be unseen. And when I use the word, “Them,” I mean they. And by they I mean them, the ones that represent my questions. By them I mean the misunderstood and miscalculated masses of people, of whom I know nothing about. By this I mean the unknown person, which embodies the mirror of my assumptions and fears. And by this I mean the mirrored image of my insecurity and worries of rejected imperfection.  

We are taught about status at a young age. We are taught about the different social grades of popularity.  
He who dies with the most toys wins, isn’t that right?
Well, if you ask me, he who dies still dies and no amount of money or toys can stop this.

Somewhere, we are taught the lie that you and I are different because of the color of our skin.  Or maybe you and I are different because we pray differently. Or maybe I don’t pray at all. Maybe the fact that I even used the word “Pray,” offends someone. Then again, everyone is offended by something nowadays.

We have pronoun trouble. We have disputes, both publicly and private; and meanwhile, I’m just over here trying to figure out how to use my new version of Microsoft 365 that a six year-old can handle, but yet me at 47, I just look at the screen, like, um, what?

That’s right. I am searching. I am looking for answers. I want to know why we are never held to the same standards. I want to know why we punish each other so deeply and pardon others who impose on a much greater level.
Why is it some get a second change and those convicted of a lesser degree are marked and shoved aside?
Who decides these standards and how do they get away with this?
I want to know why a mistake has to carry a stigma with it, like a mark of shame, or better yet, like a mark of disgrace. This hurts , you know. I know this because I have my own self-induced tragedies I’m trying to recover from. But wait no, I’m a wellness advocate. I’m a coach. I’m studying to help others recover and be well, so? What does this mean?
I’d rather inspire by example and be honest about life than stand on a box behind a podium and pretend that our pain is not real.

I want to find the reason why we do things, which we know are not in our best interest yet, something in us is crying out or dying inside. In an effort to grab some attention or to act out instead of speak out, we give in to ideas that lead to self-destructive behaviors.

Why is it we cannot simply believe in us? Why is it that we give in to the commercialism of beauty instead of being happy with the beauty we enjoy? More importantly, why do we wait to be open up about our true selves until it’s too late because in fairness, you and I could have had a much better life if we were just honest about our dreams . . .

I want to know why anxiety exists. I want to know about the panic storms and why they happen. Who knows? Maybe if I knew more about this I could defend myself and help others defend themselves from an attack that hits us quickly, like a storm that comes on without warning.

I am searching. I am searching for meaning and purpose. I am looking for my place at the table. I am looking to find my way home. I want to find my way so that I can build my dream and see the last piece of wood put up on a farm I’ve always wanted to build.

I call this place The Second Family . . .
I call it this for more reasons than I can type. But for now, trust me, this place belongs to you too.

I want to find myself. I want to continue my quest but on my terms. I want to do my time here instead of allowing my time to do me, to suffer, to be at the mercy of the clock, when in fact, I want to love as I choose because the fact is I have the talent and the ability to take advantage of this moment right here, right now.

 I want to be able to answer the age-old and ever-changing question that asks, “What is love.”

I know my love well, yet still she changes. I can define my love and describe my love to the exact curve, yet she never ceases to amaze me. She amazes me because she too is ever-changing just like the rest of us are, ever reminding me that love is not rigid but forming and transforming, constantly and continuously, for life or longer, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, forever and ever beyond the time when death do us part.

This is love. I know it is. But still, I want more. I want to see more and feel more. I want to know more and thirst more. I want my thirst to be unquenchable so that I never get enough, always looking at her, always learning, always admiring, and always amazed because like I said, she never ceases to amaze me, which is how I want her to be.

I would have this no other way, her, as she is, as she was, and as she will be. I would want her in no other way because as she was, is, and will be is perfect for me.

If I am to define my love than I am to redefine everything because she is my everything; and even after the happily ever after, after the sunset and moon’s rise, after the final twilight, and when the first dawn begins the moment of my afterlife, my love will still be my love, —beautiful, timeless, infinite and crazy, and wild too, like a couple of crazy kids that run off together and defy the world to risk it all because nothing else matters.

My love is more than heartbeats. My love is more than an outline or a silhouette. My love is my love, unparalleled by any other.

For as long as I can remember, I have been searching, looking, wondering, and questioning the existence of love. I hoped that someday I might find this thing; hoping that I would find this elusive thing, this infinite thing that cannot die, cannot break, and can never be destroyed.

My love is never gone. My love is never broken. Not even time could break my love. Nothing can take my love because my love is me, within me, changing, growing, always forming and transforming to evolve with me from this day forward, for now and until the end of time.

I am searching and I’m fine with this. I want to seek. I want to look. I want to learn and I want to know because so long as I want these things, I know I am alive.

One day we will be gone. This moment will be a memory, or maybe not. Maybe this thought will only go so far as the “Enter” button on my computer will take it.
Maybe you’ll get it. Maybe you won’t

I get it though. I may not always like it. I might not always agree with it but this is life now. And life is a search. Even when we’ve found what we’ve been looking for, there is still so much more for us to see.


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