As long as I can remember I have wanted the answers to everything. Into my preteen years I needed to know things like “Who is God?”, “Who am I?”, “Why am I here?”, “Why is all of this happening to me?”, and of course “What is my purpose?”
When I thought I had the answers, I was content. Content to let myself sit back and assume everything I had been raised to believe was true. Content to not change my worldview. When the answers were taken for me, I had to open my eyes.
Now I don’t have the answers, only a sense of wondering and aimlessness plaguing at me. But maybe…that’s not such a bad thing?
Maybe we will never know who we really are in this life…and that’s okay.
Maybe we’ll never have a definitive answer of who God is, what the universe is made of, and why we’re here…and it’s all okay.
It’s not about having all the answers. It’s about experiencing everything this plane of existence has to offer before we’re sent back home.
I’ve lived my whole life never feeling like I truly belonged, like I never had a place I could call home, and at this point I’m learning to accept the fact that I might feel this way until the day I die. I won’t be home until I leave my body and join the stars. But until then, I have shit to do.