Buying Yourself Isn’t Satisfying

Struggling a little tonight, as I sometimes do, with the wanting. I went over to Etsy to browse, just because it’s fun to view the creative minds of those who do because they want to. They had a whole “graduation” section prepared, and I clicked over there just to see. I didn’t anticipate how it would make me feel, make me want. Not want the objects. Oh, some of them were clever and fun and thoughtful and touching, but I don’t need any of them.

No, what I wanted was someone to give them to me. The same sort of pull I feel sometimes on Valentine’s Day. I don’t really need the flowers, but I wish someone wanted to give them to me.

I don’t really want someone to come to my choir concerts or watch me be inducted into my graduate program. . .but I want someone who wants to.  I want someone who is so interested in my life that they really wouldn’t miss it because they really don’t want to because I’m there.

I squash those thoughts. Squash, squash, squash. ‘Who doesn’t want a little worship, a little pedestal?’ I tell myself. Vanity, vanity. But the squashing doesn’t really work, because as much as there might be some truth behind that, it really is a hunger for the relationship that would bear that kind of fruit. It isn’t about graduation, and it isn’t about recognition, and it isn’t even really about me. It’s about the wanting to share life with someone in a meaningful way for a long time. These are little symptoms of the deeper longing, and quashing the symptoms does nothing to resolve the underlying problem.

I don’t know that it’s a problem we have the power to solve for ourselves.

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