I love flying, I really do, but right now I feel as if I have been “Around the World in 80 Days”; anyone remember that book by Jules Verne?
I just travelled across two continents with a layover in between, and with all the covid-19 protocols, the joy has been taken out of flying.
It’s a night flight, so quite a few of my fellow passengers are settling down for a shuteye; not me, I’m thinking of the one thousand and one things that I need to do when I get back home.
The laundry has to be done, do I have enough detergent?
I need groceries, how do I go groceries shopping while self-isolating?
I’m sure there will be a gathering of dust in every room, what do I need to do to make the place sparking clean, shinning like a new penny?
And so my thoughts go on and on…………
Why do I have the need to be perfect; to do things perfectly, to set, almost unattainable standards for myself?
Suddenly my thoughts are interrupted; the cries of a baby rend the air, I take a quick glance at the child obviously made uncomfortable by the difference in ear pressure due to the high altitude, but then the young mother catches my attention as she does everything possible to pacify her baby, to lure the child to sleep; her shoulders are bowed, her expression says “I feel less than perfect, because I do not have this situation under control”.
As I watch her, I am saying to her (though she can’t hear me), you are doing just fine and there is really nothing like perfection. Just then I have a “light bulb” moment, and I realise that I and the young mother are not much different;
Why do I have the need to be perfect; to do things perfectly, to set, almost unattainable standards for myself?
Why does the young mother believe that somehow her baby’s discomfort is a reflection of her ability?
Can you relate?
I take a cursory glance at my other fellow passengers, so many different expressions flitting across their faces, some look bored, others are irritated (maybe by the baby’s cries), and there are those who are full of life, which is something considering the time of night, while some are just worn out! What are their stories, I think as I look at them?
And then I realise that, we are all broken people and if we would only rest in our Creator we will have no reason to aspire to unattainable standards set for us by society or even ourselves! Matthew 11:28
Breathe woman, breathe!
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See you next Wednesday
Abimbola
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Time is often called the soul of motion, the great measure of change, but what if it is merely an illusion? What if we are not moving forward but simply circling the same points, like the smoke from a burning fire, curling back onto itself, repeating patterns we fail to recognize? Maybe the past and future are just two sides of the same moment, and all we ever have is now.
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If everything in this universe has a cause, then surely the cause of my hunger must be the divine order of things aligning to guide me toward the ultimate pleasure of a well-timed meal. Could it be that desire itself is a cosmic signal, a way for nature to communicate with us, pushing us toward the fulfillment of our potential? Perhaps the true philosopher is not the one who ignores his desires, but the one who understands their deeper meaning.
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