Finding "it"

by Lorin Michel Wednesday, May 28, 2014 10:35 PM

I wonder sometimes what it is that I’m looking for, what it is that continuously drives me forward. What do I want? What is it? What is “it?”

It is one of those tiny words with huge meaning. Try to write a paragraph without using it at least a dozen times. Try to read one. Try to talk without referring to it constantly. It is something and nothing. It’s conjecture and it’s a contraction. It’s a pronoun, objective, possessive. It’s descriptive and decisive.

But what is it?

I guess it can be anything which is probably why it seems so elusive. Most people spend every day searching for something. Sometimes that something is as frustrating as me trying to find the right word when I’m writing an article, an ad, a blog post; a text. Sometimes it’s searching for time. There never seems to be enough time for what we really want to do, whether it’s for the day, the week, the year, a lifetime. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t mutter the phrase there isn’t enough time in the world to do what I want. But what is it that I want?

Sometimes it’s something salty to snack on. That’s an easy one. Of course I don’t act on it. Sometimes it’s a way to make my hair lush and thick. Of course I can’t find it.

I wonder if it’s contentment I’m looking for and yet I realize that, for the most part, I know where that is. I see it every time I look at my husband, see my son’s name pop up on my text message, hug on my dog, hear the voices of my family so far away. I’m content. And yet I look for more. I don’t know what it is that I’m looking for and because of that, I’ll never find it.

I wonder if it’s happiness I’m seeking and yet, I’m happy. I have moments of being completely and totally blissed out. I’m healthy, I have an extraordinary life and I live it out loud every day. I’m happy, so how can I find what I already have?

I wonder if it’s joy that I want to find. But is there a difference between joy and happiness?

Sometimes I don’t look too hard for it because I’m afraid of what I’ll ultimately find. Some nebulous thing that doesn’t exist and it scares me. It, then, becomes fear and fear will stop you dead in your tracks. I’m afraid all the time but I don’t give into it. I practice active denial by not thinking about the things I’m afraid of, things I have no control over. I’m a control freak and a worrier and so I’m afraid. Of “it.” But I don’t know what that it is and I don’t want to know.

I wonder if it can be found when I don’t know what it is. I wonder if it wants to be found. I wonder if I really want to find it.

And then I realize that maybe, just maybe, I already have it. “It” is how I live my life, the people I surround myself with, the laughter I experience daily. “It” is taking a leap of faith, of possibility. Of whatever. “It” is the fact that I love what I do, I adore the written word; that I found what I was born to do at an early age. “It” is the house on the hill, a dream in the building. “It” is a deep love of life in general, of my place in it in particular; of the people I’m surrounded by. It turns out, “it” was never lost to begin with.

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