Written February 20.

College is very strange; it’s a microcosm of emotions in extremity. It’s a fishbowl, overflowing with bubbles and water and plastic jewels.

I moved on campus. As a second semester senior, I moved on campus. I never do anything in the prescribed order. I think I’m physically incapable of normalcy. This isn’t a good thing.

I met wonderful, beautiful, truly lovely people. I love them and I think they love me, and I am very, very happy. Truly happy.

I’m still restless and a little bit sad. I think I will always be a little bid sad? Maybe I’m in mourning.

I’m mourning for the world? What did the world ever do for me?

Nothing. The world is a broken place. That’s why we are only here for a short amount of time. We won’t live forever, not here. (But God gave me life. I am here out of love.)

Where will we go? I wish I knew. I’ve made a lot of guesses in my life, but no one will ever know.

Somehow knowing that we’re only here temporarily liberates me to be free and to try without recourse or fear or failure; because, after all, what is failure but the opportunity to fail again, better? 

Samuel Beckett said that–or something like it. Dr. Cornell West quoted that today, at my school–a school I have become very proud of since moving here and realizing that ideas are made and grow swimming around inside fishbowls until they get so big they burst out and rain down on the coffee table.

True, ideas come from people and people are still human. But what does it mean to be human? Does it mean to accept our flaws, our sins, accept Jesus and accept our brokenness?

When we do that, what then? When we accept our flaws, our sins and our brokenness, where can we go from there? Can that acceptance liberate us?

Acceptance can liberate a lot of things. Acceptance can make us free to pick up the pieces when we fall down, to fall better, to fall more. Falling, failing, flawing, flying, floating, fleeing, seeing and being human. 

I was amazed tonight at a juggling performance. The juggling was mesmerizing; so was gravity, drawing balls and pins toward the ground, banging the earth, bouncing back into the boy’s hand as he picked up the balls he dropped and threw them again into the air, juggling, two, three, four balls and pins and circular things. He dropped them, they dropped him, he picked them up and threw them around again and the falling became part of the dance.

May you always keep falling, keep flying, keep running, keep, keep, keep falling and dancing, flailing and flawing, being human. 

Author: melbell51

Aspiring travel writer and slow nomad.

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