Wandering

I think about meaning a lot.

Maybe it’s because meaning wasn’t up for debate when I was younger. There was a book that laid it all out. No questions to ask. Just faith.

But I question if there ever was real faith in me.

I think there was fear and shame.
There was desire to belong.
And there was longing for meaning.

The story I was given carried me through until I was able to decide on my own what had meaning through my actions.

What I discovered was that I had no clue what I thought or actually believed about the world and my place in it.

I still don’t.
I feel like I’m wandering through life most days.
Curious, but not committed.

Sometimes I’m curious about how I’d feel if I’d stayed connected to the faith I grew up in.

Would I still have questions about meaning?

Would faith have given me more stability and confidence?

There’s a part of me that wants to think it’s that simple.

But I don’t think the questioning goes away just because you have faith in something.
It just gives you something to fall back on when fear and doubt creeps in.

Most of us probably would feel better thinking there’s a bigger plan for our life.

Maybe there is.
Maybe the point is to wander until you stumble upon something that makes sense.

Who knows?