Earlier this afternoon, I was checking out some old friends on Facebook when a particular name seemed to call out to me to come closer. It was a dear friend of mine from college whom I hadn’t seen in eight years, and memories of whatever feelings I had for that person played tug-o-war on my chest, telling me to check him out, but then again not to, but then again, go ahead—because, after all, it has been AGES… right?
Right. So I reviewed his profile and saw a glimpse of what he had been up to these past eight years: post-graduate degrees, a wife, a child, an important post in a very important organization. It was close to what I had already imagined him to be back then, until a voice in my head yelled at me: And where are YOU? So far away from where you thought you’d be by now.
Suddenly, I felt tears streaming by the side of my face. I wasn’t crying because I missed the person or felt something strongly for him all over again; I was crying because the choices I had made these past few years presented themselves to me once more—and I’m not so sure I had made the right ones. This guy’s profile was showing me a path that I had once wanted to be on, but somehow, one turn after another led me farther and farther from it, until I’m now at this point where that path already seems like a totally different reality altogether. Sure, I could probably steer myself that way again, but it would alter so many things that now seem fixed. And even as I cried for a reality that I did not get to experience, I also realized that I’m not even sure if I’d still want it if the opportunity presented itself to me all over again.
So at that point, I really didn’t know what I was crying over anymore.
Then, the Universe spoke to me. On the cover of one of my journals that I’ve been rereading these past couple of days is this quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson. It was printed in big, bold letters, on white font over a crisp black background, that there was no way I would miss it:
“To laugh often and much, to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children, to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends, to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others, to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch… to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded!”
It was a reminder from the Universe to be gentler with myself. There I was again, comparing myself to friends and colleagues—as if I were in some grand competition (as I tend to think oftentimes) to see who would make it to where by when—when I really did have so much to be grateful for. I am very blessed to have a lot of love and laughter in my life. I do work with bright, intelligent people with whom there is a lot of mutual respect and admiration, and I do have the affection of children (especially of my darling niece, Erica). I do get my share of praise and appreciation from clients, editors, fellow writers, and “gatekeepers” who hold a certain amount of influence, and I have successfully and sanely endured the harshest betrayals (that I would not wish even on my worst enemies). I live with art, music, spirituality… these beautiful, intangible things that make life more divine than human. And I know that, somehow, I find ways to make the world a better place. By Emerson’s standards, I have succeeded.
… So why, then, is there still a deep ache in my heart? A yearning I cannot yet understand—an emptiness that I cannot yet name? What is the cause of all this, and what will satiate it? What is this “something bigger” that I cannot yet grasp, but which seems to define all of what I think, feel, write, say, and do right now? Will I ever know what it is? And once it is there in front of me, will I be able to recognize it?
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