I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool. – Daisy, “A Great Gatsby”
These are the days that will define me.
The days when I struggle to wake up in the morning, not leaving bed until way after noon. The days when my purpose starts to get cloudy, when everything blurs together and I can’t see straight. Lately I’ve been opening my eyes every morning and sighing. I feel old beyond my years, body aching from the day before, eyes unfocused and unsure. These are the days when every word feels like a fight, every conversation another opportunity to get hurt. Every day I don’t get that text I’ve been longing for, that glimpse of hope that I won’t have to go this alone for much longer, something in me evaporates and dies.
But I’m also reborn.
I’m tired of a lot of things. Tired of him not texting back, tired of hoping he will, tired of looking around for the next one to take his place. If ☑he ☑checks ☑three ☑of ☑my ☑twenty ☑boxes, then he gets all of my attention, he gets shot to the front of my brain like a pinball in an arcade. The next scene has my head aching from the back and forth and the continual pinging from here to there! It’s not right but I. Keep. Trying. To Force. It.
The Great Gatsby’s Daisy has a mind clouded by delusion. She’s trapped in her own sick web of failed hope and relationships that make her feel like she’s drowning. And she’s too weak to change anything. So she vainly wishes that above all, her daughter will be ignorant, so MAYBE she won’t have to feel the pain of knowing too much. The pain of knowing you could have done the right thing if you were strong enough and having to live with the regret that you didn’t, and you weren’t.
I REFUSE to invite myself to a pity party like the one Daisy threw for herself. I’m a fool, that’s for sure. I’m a fool for love. I’m a sucker for late night phone calls. I get weak in the knees when he holds my door and picks up the tab and shows me his favorite music. And most days I’m so ready to be in love again! I may be what some call a fool, but I refuse to let the negative parts of my overeager heart define or control me.
Every time I fight through the pain of my dashed expectations and my failed hopes, I’m overcoming my greatness weakness and my crippling foolishness. I’m learning to stop seeing an unanswered text to a confirmation that I’m not enough, yet again.
I’m learning to pick up my pride and move on.
On days like these, I am exceedingly thankful for Christ. Without Christ, I would be rendered vegetative by my own thoughts. Thoughts that scream of my insignificance, that remind me incessantly of my failures.
But there’s this little voice, singing above the noise. I can only hear it sometimes, like when I’m sweating on the elliptical, working my body out so hard I drown out the sound of my own thoughts. In those moments it comes through clearly, like the perfect FM transmission. It says: “Keep going. Keep working. Keep moving. I’ve got you.”
TEXAS IS HARD, I reply. I WANT HOME.
“Home is with me. It always has been. Keep going.”
Maybe the answer to all my questions is “Not yet.” And maybe that’s ok.