Do you ever stop and marvel at where you are?
Do you ever stop and feel the emptiness deep in your gut that reminds you where you are?
I'm somewhere between the two right now. When I get to preach, or meet admirable people, or engage in life-changing conversation, I marvel. When I laugh with new friends who I didn't even know six months ago, I marvel. When I look at handsome men, eat expensive meals and dress in suits to talk religion, I marvel.
But when I sit alone at night, I feel. When I don't know who to call, I feel. When my grey sweatpants don't make anyone smile anymore, I feel.
And I re-evaluate community. I remember who was friends with me, who knew me in ways in didn't know myself; I miss their being. I remember aquaintances who knew my name, knew my platforms and came to my parties; I miss their hello's. I remember road trips with people who maybe liked me, but maybe only for who I dated; I miss their approval.
And that's when I get scared.
I thought we got to take friends on with us, no matter where we went. If I called Moxi, I'd still sing Eponine's lines. If I called Brooke, I'd still be her fifi. Right? I haven't talked to them in so long...
Maybe I'm not right. Maybe I'm wrong.
I've sung onstage in front of thousands. I've preached in front of people years, books and degrees smarter than me. But singing and preaching and acting and dancing and writing and graduating and getting a job are nothing.
Letting go is by far the hardest thing I've ever done.