I Have More Questions Than Answers

My writing stems from a strong desire to understand the abundance of thoughts and feelings within me but also from the realization that I don’t know how to sort through my mind without first seeing its contents in front of me. It’s an odd phenomenon, I’ll give you (meaning myself) that. The other driving force behind my writing is my need to solve problems, my own, self-imposed, internal problems. My written words are the bridge from the problem to the solution, a bridge that’s invisible until I see it scrawled before me.

Given that, you might suspect that I’m here today, writing, because I have a problem and I’m in search of a solution. And you are correct.

However, you ought to know that it’s been more than half a year since I have successfully managed to write a something, a something about anything. It is not that, in these past six months, my life has been completely devoid of any emotion to contemplate, any problem to attempt solving, any joy to celebrate, but instead that there has been a whole heap of things and I have collapsed beneath it all. Every time I sat down to write, the story never came to a resolve because I was reeling and breathless from the events I was processing.

This, today, is yet another attempt at reflecting, processing and piecing together the things in my mind, and I am just as breathless as before. My mind is so full of questions right now, with no answers to follow. What do you do when you don’t know what to do? Who do you become when you don’t know what you want to become? Why does everything take time?

In the past six months of extended dizziness, I’ve come to a few simple truths. They don’t answer my questions, but they aide in the process of processing.

Life is messy, and the messiness is more important to growth than perfection ever will be.

Major life changes are often accompanied by self-doubt, but that doesn’t have to mean you’re completely lost or aren’t equipped to make good decisions.

It just takes time, and it’s okay if waiting is hard.

New seasons are scary and I’ve found this one the most difficult out of the others I’ve faced. But there’s hope of resolution, and sometimes all you can do is just walk forward.

(Thumbnail Image by Amanda Barker)

EssaysMary Grace Metheny