There's a reason that my blog is called "Standing on the Edge". It's the place I've often dwelt in throughout my life, in a whole lot of different ways. Social circles, cultures, conversations, opinions, style, feeling... It's both painful, and exciting. It's uncomfortable yet where I am drawn to, again again.
Like sometimes I long for that one tight knit group of friends that I know that I know I belong to just as much as everyone else - and I'd know immediately who to call on a bad day, and they'd know they could call me, and we'd know everything there is to know about each other. But it's never been like that. Which is sometimes freakin' lonely. And being lonely is hard hard hard. But then it's also because I can relate to more than just one type of person. And i delight in variety. I love what I learn from different people and groups of people. And I'm hungry for diversity. Perhaps there's a selfishness too: perhaps I get bored of too much of one thing, or is it that perhaps I fear people will get bored of me after too long? (Which is why marriage was not something I was expecting, or planning, and why it's still a surprise to me - because having someone there - every single day - and spending this amount of time with me [by choice and not because they're my twin sister!] is totally new to me, and pretty scary. But it's also GOOD and a gift, and I think God knew I needed someone to stand with me as I stand on the edge...).
Standing on the edge. From the edge I think you sometimes see more. You pick up on the interactions of a group: you notice the flash of anger, the affectionate gaze, the attempts to be heard. From the edge of the cliff you see the best view. You bridge two worlds. And you sometimes get the best of both. But you can also miss out. From the edge you may not be heard so well. When you're on the edge you're less easy to reach. When you're on the edge you seldom feel like you belong. (Strangely, some of the times when I've felt most 'part', most 'belonging', most 'in the midst' are when I've been in very 'foreign situations' - in places far from the one I'd be expected to call home, be it geographically or socially). On the edge we are perhaps more self -conscious, more self-aware, which can lend itself to sensitivity and wisdom, but can also result in fear and restraint and missing the moment.
But despite the pros and cons, on the edge is where I most often find myself, sometimes it's an escape, sometimes I feel I've been forced there, but I think I must choose it sometimes too. And right now, I feel trapped. I feel like if there's an edge, there's nothing on the other side of it, but more like there's just a wall reaching to the sky and it's not possible to walk along this wall like I'd usually do, and I cannot see beyond it. I'll clarify. Or try too. I've been in Brighton for 6.5 years. This is the longest I've lived anywhere except for Basingstoke where I lived for 8 years until I was 12. This means that Brighton is also more 'home' than anywhere else. My church is here, some of my best friends are here, and it's the same for my husband. Thing is I never intended to stay. Lots of other people did and have gone, and I'm STILL HERE. I must have walked along London Road nearly 1000 times. I am no longer shocked by what I see. I have piercings and hippy clothes and I like drum and bass and reggae nights and I perform poetry at open mic nights and I suppose I 'fit' here more than I would in most places in the UK! I go to the same building at least 5 days a week and see the same people every week, some every day. And this is not bad in itself. There are some brilliant people at work/church and it's a privilege to get to know them more. And I feel so selfish saying this, but it just doesn't feel enough. Not enough to have a job and a flat and a husband and friends and a church. I feel guilty that I feel so disatisfied. I KNOW there's a choice of contentment in there somewhere which I suppose will take me a lifetime to get better at. I'm not trying to excuse myself or say I've got a hard life. I really haven't. But I feel frustrated and restless in every bone of my body and am desperate for some kind of change, some kind of adventure, some kind of something.
And I know the arguments for staying in a place, for commitment, for the long-term - I really do and have such respect for those who are plodding on day after day, investing and investing and not complaining. And perhaps it's an excuse. perhaps it's a get out clause. BUT perhaps it isn't - because I just feel like I'm not made to stay, I'm not made to sit still, I'm not made to limit myself, to be doing one thing in one place with one group of people for ever. I'm a pilgrim, a pioneer, a wild goose. And right now I feel like I'm trapped. And I'm trying to be patient, and I'm trying to learn, and be more gracious, and be satisfied. But I'm not doing so well. And I am longing, hungry, to stand on an edge once again.
Like sometimes I long for that one tight knit group of friends that I know that I know I belong to just as much as everyone else - and I'd know immediately who to call on a bad day, and they'd know they could call me, and we'd know everything there is to know about each other. But it's never been like that. Which is sometimes freakin' lonely. And being lonely is hard hard hard. But then it's also because I can relate to more than just one type of person. And i delight in variety. I love what I learn from different people and groups of people. And I'm hungry for diversity. Perhaps there's a selfishness too: perhaps I get bored of too much of one thing, or is it that perhaps I fear people will get bored of me after too long? (Which is why marriage was not something I was expecting, or planning, and why it's still a surprise to me - because having someone there - every single day - and spending this amount of time with me [by choice and not because they're my twin sister!] is totally new to me, and pretty scary. But it's also GOOD and a gift, and I think God knew I needed someone to stand with me as I stand on the edge...).
Standing on the edge. From the edge I think you sometimes see more. You pick up on the interactions of a group: you notice the flash of anger, the affectionate gaze, the attempts to be heard. From the edge of the cliff you see the best view. You bridge two worlds. And you sometimes get the best of both. But you can also miss out. From the edge you may not be heard so well. When you're on the edge you're less easy to reach. When you're on the edge you seldom feel like you belong. (Strangely, some of the times when I've felt most 'part', most 'belonging', most 'in the midst' are when I've been in very 'foreign situations' - in places far from the one I'd be expected to call home, be it geographically or socially). On the edge we are perhaps more self -conscious, more self-aware, which can lend itself to sensitivity and wisdom, but can also result in fear and restraint and missing the moment.
But despite the pros and cons, on the edge is where I most often find myself, sometimes it's an escape, sometimes I feel I've been forced there, but I think I must choose it sometimes too. And right now, I feel trapped. I feel like if there's an edge, there's nothing on the other side of it, but more like there's just a wall reaching to the sky and it's not possible to walk along this wall like I'd usually do, and I cannot see beyond it. I'll clarify. Or try too. I've been in Brighton for 6.5 years. This is the longest I've lived anywhere except for Basingstoke where I lived for 8 years until I was 12. This means that Brighton is also more 'home' than anywhere else. My church is here, some of my best friends are here, and it's the same for my husband. Thing is I never intended to stay. Lots of other people did and have gone, and I'm STILL HERE. I must have walked along London Road nearly 1000 times. I am no longer shocked by what I see. I have piercings and hippy clothes and I like drum and bass and reggae nights and I perform poetry at open mic nights and I suppose I 'fit' here more than I would in most places in the UK! I go to the same building at least 5 days a week and see the same people every week, some every day. And this is not bad in itself. There are some brilliant people at work/church and it's a privilege to get to know them more. And I feel so selfish saying this, but it just doesn't feel enough. Not enough to have a job and a flat and a husband and friends and a church. I feel guilty that I feel so disatisfied. I KNOW there's a choice of contentment in there somewhere which I suppose will take me a lifetime to get better at. I'm not trying to excuse myself or say I've got a hard life. I really haven't. But I feel frustrated and restless in every bone of my body and am desperate for some kind of change, some kind of adventure, some kind of something.
And I know the arguments for staying in a place, for commitment, for the long-term - I really do and have such respect for those who are plodding on day after day, investing and investing and not complaining. And perhaps it's an excuse. perhaps it's a get out clause. BUT perhaps it isn't - because I just feel like I'm not made to stay, I'm not made to sit still, I'm not made to limit myself, to be doing one thing in one place with one group of people for ever. I'm a pilgrim, a pioneer, a wild goose. And right now I feel like I'm trapped. And I'm trying to be patient, and I'm trying to learn, and be more gracious, and be satisfied. But I'm not doing so well. And I am longing, hungry, to stand on an edge once again.
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