I have friends who are tireless allies. Their tirelessness awes and inspires; I speak up when it’s convenient, when an opportunity arises. And every single time it wipes me out. And then there are the marginalized, the ones being kicked around by this shitty, shitty world.
I sometimes find myself in conversations that push my weariness to the surface. They remind me my beliefs are not mainstream. The jokes and commentary that follow coat me in a sadness. I raised an eyebrow or was apathetic to this thinking once upon a time.
I met and was transformed by various smart, patient, loving, open-minded friends. Because of them, I am now this me. This me is tired. I don’t want to carve out room for thinking differently. I want it to be in place already. I want it to be the energy fuelling the spaces I inhabit. I want to learn from it, not teach it, because what the hell do I know.
I’m not cut out for pioneering. It was easier not knowing.
When I was a Christian, my best friend was a pastor’s daughter. She came home from visiting a long-time faith friend in another province. She shared how nice it was to spend time with her friend, because she could relax without taking a teaching role. She was in the company of deep-rooted likemindedness.
I was quietly hurt.
I get it now.
Linking up with just write because sometimes there are words you just need to string together and place somewhere.