"I love what you write," she said, "because you seem so wise."
This statement split me in two. Half of me was incredibly flattered -- what a compliment! And the other half ...
The other half felt embarrassed. Because I am a lot of things, but wise is not on the list.
The truth is that I am comfortable documenting my life's bumbles and fumbles on the internet for all to read because I think we're all bumbling and fumbling around down here, and most of us are convinced that admitting that we don't know what we're doing is, for some reason, shameful. Despite the fact that I confessed yesterday that not knowing what I'm doing at work is stressing me out, I have become pretty used to announcing that I have no idea what I'm doing with my life, and that I am winging it with regularity; I announce it because I suspect that I'm not the only one, that a lot of us are sort of feeling our way through life, and I also think that if I am open about the fact that I have an issue or two ... or three ... or one hundred and twelve ... that it might make other people more easy about their issues.
That's not wisdom, though. That's just shared experience.
I believe some things, strongly. If you've followed along for any period of time, you know about some of them: I believe in civil discourse; I believe in love; I believe in kindness; I believe in equality and compassion and understanding and humanity.
I also believe that I have a tendency to run at the mouth ... or in this case, type (and blather) on and on.
I don't know about wisdom. I know about stories, shared stories, and sharing beliefs and trying to find a way to connect. I feel like I'm not the only one searching for a lamp to light the darkness that is so eager to fall. If I say something that strikes a match for someone else, then I am humbled and thankful.
And when someone takes the time to tell me that something, some small thing, that I have said helps light the way, then my own strange and twisty path is illuminated, and I feel blessed.
But blessed all the same.