Nomad's Pub

Contraditions

Sometimes I want to stop. Just kick my shoes off; leave them tossed in a heap by the door; put my feet up on a cushion; head back against a cloud; against another cushion. Traveling is exhausting.

But it's curious to come to notice... Travels are indeed exhausting, but that is really only a physical exhaustion. I am exhausted because of relationships, and am at the same time rejuvenated by them. But right now... it is pure, unadulterated exhaustion.

I want to run far away from people. Escape life. Escape expectations and failures and misunderstandings. Escape from breaches of faith, from broken trust; from poorly chosen words at bad times; from so much hurt.

I don't want to always be coming home; I want to stay home. I don't want to stay home; I want to travel. I don't want to travel; it's always leaving. I love traveling; it's always coming home.

Madeleine L'Engle, one of my ultimate favourite authors, wrote in her book A Circle of Quiet (Which yes, I'm currently reading, and yes, I know I need to add it to my list on the side here, but hey; i've been busy!), that contraditions in people are not a bad thing. They show how real we are. The more real we are, the less uniformed, the less conforming, and the more seeming contradictory we are because we are so...big.

And it's interesting to think about, because really, life is full of contradictions and opposites and things which don't always make sense. which together make up the world we know; the world we are part of. Night and day. Death and life. Hate and love. Men and women (ha!). And other things... different colours. Introvert/extrovert. Hopes and fears. Sorrow and joy. Science and technology and...faith. Knowledge, with all its different facets. Cultures. Languages.

Sometimes just the way you word something makes all the difference. Night and day or day and night? Death and life or life and death?

One is upbeat, one; downbeat. Same words; different relevance.

I used to be so frustrated with the contraditions in myself. Used to look at my life and think...this will never work out; never ever make sense; never come together. But I think now, maybe some things just aren't meant to be understood. Some things must needs contradict. Some things must remain a mystery, and there is beauty in the mystery. And it's just a matter of living, of accepting, of believing and hoping and trusting.

I am, and I am not. But I am anyways.

Is it alright? Is that enough?

posted by Lada @ 9:38 AM