Trying to answer the unanswerable questions
~This is a new post~
Five and a half years later and there are still a few pieces missing in my health puzzle.
My doctors and I have checked under the table. Lifted the carpet. Felt between the couch cushions.
And still nothing.
I spent so much time, and energy, in the spring of my diagnosis trying to find an answer for why I got sick.
As I sit here wondering– why do we obsess over the need for answers?
Maybe because we want a neat and tidy life. And answers provide the closure that we so desperately seek.
For the past five and a half years a good portion of my life didn’t make sense. My life was, and still is, bursting with positives: A family, work I enjoy, friends, food in refrigerator. Then, on a warm September afternoon, my life didn’t make sense anymore.
An MRI revealed a piece of my cerebellum died. No explanation was given or ever found. Which is the truth I’ve had the pleasure of sitting with for five and a half years.
This post was inspired by something a friend shared on social media.
My friend revealed they’ve recently sought medical help and were diagnosed with depression. They explained they have so much to be thankful for and yet that can’t find thankfulness in their heart. They are lost and sad and their good life simply didn’t make sense anymore. And everyone, but them, seems to have all the important questions answered.
I was driving the other day with my five year old in the backseat. As the world passed his window he fell into a trance of rapid-fire questioning that five years are famous for:
What are clouds made of?
Where does the sun go at night?
Why does it have to rain?
Children, as well as adults, want answers. Answers soothe us. Answers make sense.
I guess, as children we’re conditioned to think every question has an answer. And this sort of– definable existence–works until we meet a question that has no answer.
My friend–you are not alone. Please take comfort in knowing that all our pencils are dulled. Our erasures low. The truth is–we’re all struggling like hell to answer the unanswerable questions. We’re all burnt-out and blurry-eyed. We’re all slightly anxious and a bit unnerved. And we all hear the classroom clock ticking.
If I’ve learned anything in the last five and a half years it’s that life is not meant to be understood.
Life is simply a mysterious series of events that we bear witness to. When I stopped trying to find out why my brain broke, and began accepting a new reality, was the moment I took the first step toward improvement.
And maybe learning there will always be big parts of your life that will not make much sense is the most important truth you can learn.
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