on longing.

The space between accepting what is and hoping for more is where we find longing. I like this word because I think it's one that you can feel as you say it--wrapping itself around your center and reaching forward all at once. It both asks a question and stretches for the answer as if it were a loved one, just out of reach.

Longing is an essential part of living because it keeps us holding on when we are down and out. In trauma counseling, we call this imagination. For those of us who have encountered more suffering than not, experiencing consistent, positive emotions can feel like an unfamiliar concept. When this happens, the brain is trained to pick up on all possible threats to safety, both internal and external, resulting in a negative emotional experience. Without any orientation to feelings of wellness, it can be difficult to find our way back to solid ground. So, we teach our clients to imagine--to visualize what it could feel like to be well again. We tell them to picture what their best life is, to describe to us what they would be doing, or how their bodies and emotions would be operating under these conditions. 

Research has shown us that when the brain imagines something, it creates almost the same pathways as actually completing the process. We need imagination to propel us forward, to increase our faith. And longing, well longing is only bearable if we believe that things will get better. That even if our circumstances do not change, that our spirits will transcend our challenges and we will not feel so heavy any more. 

Longing keeps us alive.

But it can feel like an unending path.

There are so many things I want at this age. A partner, a family. Freedom from the unhealthier parts of myself. I see my friends or family on their own path, and I am happy for them (not without a fair dose of jealousy). But the longing, it is unlike any other pain. It's like holding your breath or trying to touch the sky, it is a feeling that pulls at you from beyond. It's as if you are sending out all your love, all your bright, exploding energy into the universe only for it not to be returned back to you, back to your beating, bursting heart. 

It's looking for a home but finding you must wander farther, further, still.

Longing is tough, but it has a purpose. I think it prepares us, in a way. I think it opens us up so that whatever is coming, whatever may be headed our direction, we are ready to receive it. Longing, if listened to properly, can illuminate the parts of us that feel incomplete. 

And make no mistake, we will find a way to fill these aching chambers. But what I am learning is that in the longing there is a seed being planted in our souls, and how we choose to water it matters. We can cover it up or numb it away, but this will only serve to anesthetize our very being. Contrarily, we can desperately poke and prod as we try to mash ill-fitting pieces into our puzzle, leaving us brittle and prone to breaking. 

Longing is the middle ground. It fills us up and unlocks the vulnerable places, makes us sensitive and brave and trusting in what is yet to come.

It keeps us grounded.

It show us what could be, if we are patient enough.

In our best life, in our innermost being.

Our processes hold meaning, and while our outcomes may not always be what we want them to be, our longing is telling a story all the same. 

But we get to decide who we are until we reach that place, we get to choose what to do with our longing. 

I am trying to listen to it.

To feel it. 

To accept where I am, while daring to imagine more. 

Let your longing lead you.

It knows where to go.

Its melody is a reflection of your heart, after all.

And that--that is a song never wasted, no matter how endless the journey may seem.