I'm writing this post from the deck of the McIvor family cabin on Priest Lake in northern Idaho. Sometime today, I'll head back to the relatively waterless abyss that is Spokane these days, but for now I'm enjoying the quiet morning with a cool breeze and sparkling water- yes, it actually does look like Ariel's dress when her dad turns her into a human at the end of The Little Mermaid. I've been up here for a couple days, with an aunt, uncle, and various other family members, and as much as I love it here, the quiet has honestly been terrible! I know that I have a hard time being silent (the day we spent in silence and solitude at Tall Timber over JanTerm three years ago practically killed me), but I have an especially hard time being silent when my heart is restless. So, naturally, being the good little escapist that I am, I have done pretty much nothing but read since I got here. I finished one book, and have read three more in the course of the last two days. And we're not talking Boxcar Children here- I have been a reading maniac. Only now the problem is, in addition to all my own mixed up thoughts, my mind and heart also now contain all the mixed up thoughts of the characters in the books I've been reading. I have a hard time with emotional boundaries, and now I've let all these fictional people (and in one case, real people) waltz on into my heart and sit down for a cup of tea while they tell me about all the problems in their version of the universe.
This is ridiculous.
I have got to figure out who the heck I am. What do I really care about? What really matters? What do I really want?
Since I have no hope of solving the world's (or my) problems today, I'm going to start small. What do I really want? A cup of hot chocolate. This I can do.
Baby steps, my dear one, baby steps.
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