It’s been an unsettling few days. one of those times where different aspects of my life pull me emotionally in two different directions.
I learned on Wednesday night that a friend of mine lost her son in a stabbing. He was 24 years old. We went to the same high school, once upon a time. My heart broke for her, but I was truly shaken by the death of someone so young. Twenty four. What can a normal boy accomplish in 24 years? What is to become of his aspirations? His dreams? His kids? I’m still kind of struggling to believe that all that promise can come to such a screeching halt. There doesn’t seem to be much justice in it. Cold-hard proof that God’s ways certainly aren’t our own.
On the other end of the spectrum, my boyfriend and I are celebrating our four-year anniversary tomorrow night. Every day with him is a significant milestone to me. Lately, i’ve gotten significantly closer to his family and, well, the ultimate prize of girlhood. Marriage. I can feel it rearing it’s head, and I have never been more ready. Sometimes I think I’m too ready, but that’s a post for another time.
In another aspect, my plans for London are beginning to unfold. I think I’ve found somewhere I would like to live. My potential roommate, a mutual friend of a fellow parishioner, lives only walking distance from the university, which could mean wonders for my inactive self.
The point is, my life is moving forward. I’m taking in every moment in and admiring the stops along the way. But I have been afraid of what lies ahead until this week. My creative hiatus has seriously been lacking inspiration. Idleness has made me miserable. Something that was supposed to refresh me, was bolting me to the floor.
You never think about how much time you have left in life, until someone loses theirs.
At 24, will have have done everything I needed to do? Most likely not.
But I’ll never know for sure while I’m bolted to the floor.