I’m plunging neck-deep into a weekend I’ve dreaded for weeks in just four hours.
I’m supposed to like it. I should like it. I’ve been getting emails about how likeable it will be. Everybody involved will be likeable
It’s orbited around my mind like an ugly planet. Like Neptune. Or Jupiter. Yeah, Jupiter. A real harsh, marauding giant. Fun fact: Jupiter is 2.5 times heavier than all the other planets combined. Fitting.
“Should” is the worst part. I should enjoy this weekend. I should have fun. I shouldn’t feel exhausted thinking about it. I shouldn’t plot how to get “sleepy” so I can dip out a few hours early both nights. I shouldn’t wash my hands for three minutes just to get a break from living it. I shouldn’t dream about Sunday night, when I can soak myself in tater tots & Netflix.
Honesty is a weird virtue. Everybody agrees it’s good, but nobody wants to be the first to cultivate it. We sense love & honesty are married somehow, but we like to put them in separate bedrooms. Some days, divorcing them feels easier.
Only problem: they never can be separated.
Honesty is sharing ourselves as we actually are. Love is gift-giving. And honesty is the gift we never like giving. It’s beautiful in dreams, but so is love. You know you’ve begun both when they seem like bad ideas. That’s because they’re covered in the dirt-and-grime of your actual life. And your actual life does an excellent job of making dreams feel stupid & pointless.
This weekend, I’m daring to give the gift of honesty. I might not be able to share it then, so I’m giving it to you & me.
I probably should feel more excited.
The weekend might totally suck with the strength of a thousand gassy Jupiters.
I am way behind the life I’m leaving for a weekend.
Oh, and lots of people have way better reasons to feel dread.
I’m thinking as dust clears, God is probably still good. And love is still possible. And I couldn’t see either before I told it like it actually was.
photo credit: my wife, awyeah