silently your senses abandon their defences

Smashing Story: Awkward – TV hostess on live TV announces the wrong Australia Top Model winner.


**

Silence. Solitude. Reflection. Time.

I've never really felt a need for time. In my current, vaguely employed state, this might not be surprising information. But you'd be surprised how much there is besides "employment" to fill my life – reading, writing, socialization, photography, cooking, music, etc. Actually, you probably wouldn't be surprised, because it seems to be pretty common to have a need to fill in possible blank spaces.

For me, high school was about joining a million clubs/groups/sports, thriving on the input, socialization, and knowledge from each. I'm not exaggerating – my life sounded like a somewhat desperate college entry essay – MUN, band, choir, softball, soccer, basketball, plays, talent shows, fashion shows, student council, piano, youth group band, yearbook, all accompanied by constant reading and an active social life.

People who stressed about time always puzzled me, and when someone said they couldn't go out because they didn't have time, I generally assumed they didn't want to – after all, there is always time for the things that are important to you; and there is always so much time.

I still think that people will always make time for things that are important to them. I just think that they should reflect more on their choices of "things of importance." (And when I say "people," I mean "me.") Perhaps time isn't as bountiful as it appeared to my 17-year-old self; not when using it properly.

**

In Lifegroup tonight, one of the girls spoke about how solitary reflection can be scary because there are certain things that you might not want to confront. We spoke of God's whispering voice and the importance of stillness.

These are jarring ideas, considering the mayhem of 2010 living; traffic, radios, television, kjhagjhfdkjfhgjskdhgklj.

**

Sometimes, when I'm walking alone, I look nervously over my shoulder and quicken my pace. I then look back again, and walk even faster. This makes me feel like I'm in a John Grisham novel, or Erin Brockovich. The girl with the pearl earring, maybe. (She and Erin Brockovich share a blurry space in my mind.)

It also appears to make the people behind me uncomfortable. Casualties happen.