Learning has always been one of my greatest strengths, but knowledge without action is a recipe for disaster. A recipe that I am, unfortunately, well acquainted with. Sometimes my brain feels so full and my inability to make choices is so present that I become easily overwhelmed. With much power, comes much responsibility and knowledge is power, so say the adages. This often causes me to feel like a walking pressure cooker, hauling around the feeling that I have the responsibility of perfecting the world though I am rendered useless in my ability to actually do so. Especially as I am put in situations (namely school, church, and work) where I am supposed to keep taking in such breadth and depth of information I think, “How can I hold all of these thoughts together without combusting?!”
However, I’ve been realizing that, though I have the ability to make positive impacts, it is not up to me to make everything right. Redemption, reconciliation, rescue are all important things but it’s not up to me to have the final say in any of them. Though I have learned a lot and I do know how to make positive strides toward bettering this world, I don’t know everything. Therefore, I can rest in learning, be open to the wisdom of others, and recognize that it takes both a collective effort of people and ultimately the effort of God to restore this broken world.
Today I really wrestled with these feelings as anxiety crept in on me so I read this poem again and again and again until I finally felt like I believed it. It’s hard to hold the tensions between the beliefs that we are important, unique, and immeasurably valuable while also remembering that in the span of time and space, we are but a mere blip on the radar.
I often sit here learning, collecting keys to the universe, feeling frustrated that only I have the power to unlock these doors.
The pressure builds and sometimes I crack, wrestling with tears as I explain to them my responsibility to continue unlocking doors for everyone else, the infinite pounds of the universe on my shoulders.
The pressure builds and sometimes I crack, wrestling with tears as I explain to them my responsibility to continue unlocking doors for everyone else, the infinite pounds of the universe on my shoulders.
Then I am struck to my knees in relief as the pounds are unloaded along with the reminder that my small pieces of infinity aren’t complete and I don’t know as much as I think I do. That other people have incomplete infinities too and we need each other to strive toward wholeness. That ultimately there is only one key and only one key holder who isn’t me, and it never will be nor is it supposed to be and that’s okay. So I can go back to being free to learn and share and learn without cracking.
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