hoarding happiness

I remember, as a kid, learning how to water ski. 

My grandma, who regularly skied until she was 77 years old, schooled me on skiing's finer points. Crouch in the water. Rope between my legs. Hands holding the handle. Knees bent, skis slightly pointed inward. Give the signal to the boat that we could go. Surge and yank of horsepower. Don't pull the rope, let the rope pull me. Keep my weight slightly forward. Stay within the boat wake. If I wanted to tail left, push more onto my left foot. Go right, lean more on my right foot. 

What my grandma didn't clue me in about, however, was my favorite part. The delicious force of wind in my face; the restful, serene view of the passing shoreline; the soothing, arhythmic beat of the waves thumping under the skis -- THIS is my favorite part of skiing. The sensory revelry. The time on the skis; the act of skiing. It stirs my heart to leap for joy in my chest to ski.

Of course, I gotta keep to the fundamentals of skiing. Skies slightly pointed inward, watching the water, watching for other boats. Watching for when the boat (usually driven by my mischievous older brother) will circle twice and then steer through that wake. This is because my brother loves to see if I can manage skiing through that absurd chop of his stirred-up waves (usually, I fall).

It bothered me that I couldn't fully absorb the thrill of skiing, because I had to work hard to make sure I didn't fall off the skis. "I'm missing the moment!" I'd worriedly berate to myself. It takes a lot of time to fully live in any moment. It starts to feel rushed. I know I'm not taking in as much as I could.

What is this experience for you? What wholesome joy of yours do you fret will slip through your fingers too fast? What good thing tempts your heart to hoard it? 

It's taken time for me to relax about feeling rushed through life's happy times. Most of what motivated my angst was this: I carried an untested belief that a happy time such as this might never come again for me. So I felt like I must maximize how much I treasured THIS happy moment. I had to slow it down, absorb by osmosis as much as possible. I needed to hoard it, seal it in Tupperware, make sure it lasts as long as it can.

But that's folly.

It's possible: the exact same happy time may never come again. Yet different, equally happy, equally glorious moments thump through life at an arhythmic pace. Don't they for you too? A great talk with a friend. A delicious meal. A solid grade on a tough exam. A concert. A time of prayer. 

They show up like a wave to a shore, and then recede right back out. I can't catch the wave and keep it to myself. It'd be folly to try. But another wave always comes in. This helps me refrain from trying to hoard happy times. Like sad times, other happy times will come. I don't know when, or how, or in what way. But they will.

I haven't skied in years. I miss that rush of wind. I would love to feel that pull of a ski rope again. Maybe I will, maybe I won't. If I do, I'll probably feel like it went by too fast. But other joys remain, happy times I've yet to imagine or even know existed. It's the same for you.

Grace and peace to you on this day, dearly beloved--

"I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live ... " -Ecclesiastes 3:9-12

divine discontent

"Being single is a gift from God." 

Oh, this phrase pissed me off whenever I heard it. 

If this is true (a point I won't entirely concede): as a college student and then as a young adult, I reacted to this axiom as a young kid might react to receiving clothes as a birthday present: technically useful, and yes, technically a gift.

But let's be honest: Not all "gifts" elicit the same joyful gratitude, for good reason. 

When and where this gift of singleness can become tiresome:

-When the slow songs start at the formals, the dances, the weddings. That's when some of you head for the bathroom (or outside, or to the bar, or anywhere else but on the dance floor).

-Walking on campus or down a sidewalk ... seeing couples walking together, holding hands, or happily chatting with one another.

-Nights and weekends. Somehow, any loneliness experienced during these times distinctly agitated my heart and inner monologue.

-Holidays. Especially holidays that involve seeing family and loved ones. Arbor Day is probably OK though (unless you're crushing on a horticulturist).

-National Boyfriend/Girlfriend Day on social media.

-Third-wheeling it with the friend who seems to always be dating someone, or is in a situationship that's looking solid.

-Engagement parties for friends.

-Valentine's Day. Enough said.

-Hearing about someone's situationship, and wondering when (or if) someone will ask you out. 

To be fair, I did not acutely feel this ache of singleness all the time, every day.

Some weeks and months felt easier.

Other weeks and months felt harder.

Different people will offer different perspectives on this, many no doubt wiser than mine. So please take my words alongside those of others in your life whom you trust.

As a young person who didn't always enjoy being single, what did it often feel like?

It felt like I had more capability as a person than I could show. Wanting an opportunity. It was as though I knew I could run faster than what my shoes could sustain, if only given a chance. A divine discontent stuck with me -- sometimes quieter, sometimes louder.

I say 'divine' discontent because it felt like my discontent was part of how God created me. I wanted what I felt built to do -- to love someone with my whole heart.

To be all in.

To be known fully and fully loved, anyway. 

To have inside jokes and quirky backstories.

To be my actual weird self, and have someone say 'Yep -- that's what I'm looking for.'

Waiting, praying, and hoping for that slowly got easier (emphasis on s l o w l y). 

 

In the meantime, my unofficial mindset became: "I might as well keep busy, have fun, learn new stuff, stay grounded in my faith, and do meaningful work while I hope and pray for this."

 

If I met my future wife along the way? Splendid. If I met a bunch of cool people who brought much joy to my life by their presence and antics? Also splendid.

Being single included bountiful amounts of joy. Friends, trips, experiences, concerts, relationships, learning, laughing. My joy co-existed alongside this divine discontent of wanting. The waiting commingled hope and exasperation to varying degrees -- wondering when, how, and who.

Life was good, and I hoped for more. Both of these facts stayed true.

Is it possible to be single & happy? 

 

Absolutely! Our lives teem with examples around us every day that shout this truth.

 

The happiness will surge, and will fall back, like the tide. So take wholesome advantage of when you can contentedly build a sandcastle or dig for seashells. Eventually, the tide will surge again, and wash it out.

 

 

It can stink to watch the tide take away your sandcastle. There's no getting around that. 

 

And yet ... there'll be more chances to build new castles, find new seashells, and to see another shoreline sunset and sunrise.

 

 

 

Useful Reading:

Boundaries in Dating by Cloud & Townsend (Link here)