I’m worried about us.
I don’t want to give fear too big of a role in the story, but I worry about what’s happening to us as a community, as a people. I worry that we’re more focused on watching other people live their lives than living our own.
I worry about how many videos are taken on phone cameras when a tragedy happens. I worry about why those hands pull out their phones rather than running away, or running to help.
I worry that we can’t hear anymore. I talk a lot about how we’re each given a very specific part to play in the story, about how we’ve all got a very unique perspective, a voice that needs to be heard and an identity that the rest of the world needs us to recognise and live in. That when we’re our most true and authentic selves, we can make the biggest impact for Hope. But I worry that we can’t hear the voice telling us who we are over the burning in us to be who everyone else is.
I love social media. I have friends I’ve made on Instagram that I would never have made otherwise. But I put my phone down two weeks ago and it delights and terrifies me how different I feel on a day-to-day basis.
My head is clearer. I have more ideas. I’ve written more in the past 15 days than I think I had in the three months prior.
Without the distraction of anyone else’s highlight reel, I just listen to who God says I am and then I walk in that.
And that’s just two weeks in.
I’m 35 years old. Which seems completely ridiculous and impossible to me, but there you have it. I thought “It goes by so fast” was just something old people say, and maybe I’m an old person now, but there’s nothing like your absolute baby boy child starting big school to make you feel like it all just goes by too fast.
I want to suck the absolute marrow out of this life. I do not want to waddle through it like some kind of cracked-out zombie sheep. It. Goes. By. So. Fast.
There’s this quote I’ve always loved by Hunter S. Thompson:
“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a Ride!”
We have stuff to do, guys. The world needs us to be awake and alive, to wear ourselves out. Life is freaking beautiful. I won’t stop believing it no matter how many times I get knocked down. (And I feel like I have been knocked down a lot.)
And I refuse to watch it happen through my camera phone. If it’s good, I want to see it with my very own eyes, to soak it in so that I can tell a good story later. And if it’s tragic, I want to run in and get my hands dirty.