To be completely transparent, I have never felt more insecure than I feel in this season of life: that awkward 20-somethings-single-guy-just-out-of-college-but-living-at-home-with-a-full-time-job stage. I’m not sure everyone goes through that stage, but it can definitely feel lonely more often than not. And, in a world that is increasingly more and more connected by social media, those insecurities seem to compound exponentially.
Having just come off being in three weddings in six weeks, maybe it makes me more sensitive to this stage, but any glimpse on Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter reveals another high school or college friend getting engaged or tying the knot. The progression of significant others turning into fiancees turning into newlyweds turning into parents seems to be happening at a rapid pace.
And if I’m being honest: it stings.
Don’t get me wrong, I am elated for my friends who I have had the honor and privilege of standing up and supporting these last few weeks; I wouldn’t trade any of those opportunities for the world. Each wedding has been a beautiful picture of the love and grace Jesus has shown in their lives, mine, and so many others. It has been a joy to stand alongside some of my closest friends as a groomsman and celebrate their new adventure beginning.
But there is a longing that stirs in each and every one of those moments. A longing for something you don’t have. It’s not jealousy. It’s not envy. It’s a deep-seated desire to have what they have: someone to love, hold, cherish, and adore. A connection that is unexplainable no matter how many different ways you try to explain it. A friendship that knows no bounds no matter how far you continue to mine away. A trust that says “No matter what happens moving forward, I’m not leaving.” A respect that values the other person above and beyond your own needs, wants, or desires. A love that is more than just emotion but a conscious choice.
And I haven’t found that yet.
But I don’t want your pity. I don’t want your witty sayings. I don’t want the pep-talk. I’ve had enough of those things in my life that I can show pity to myself, comeback with best one-liners, and psych myself up to get out of a funk.
I just want to speak. I just want to release. I just want to give a voice to these feelings that are swirling somewhere deep in my soul. Not for you to feel sorry for me, but maybe for you to say “Yeah, I get that. Me too.” Because I’ve learned over the short time I’ve been alive that in order to begin the healing process you have to let go. For some like me, that means writing out words to give others the opportunity to read. It’s the beginning stages of coming to terms with your feelings and emotions. It’s the only way you can heal and move on.
Because maybe, just maybe, there is someone else out there who is feeling the same things but struggling to put words it. And if some strangely poetic way, my voice can give you a voice, then it starts both of us down a road of restoration.
And until those insecurities find a safe place, that longing will continue.
Which isn’t a bad thing.
It just means I’m a work in progress.