Iris explores. Carl helps.
I don’t think of myself as a quotey type. I like them well enough. I even write down a few. But quotes aren’t my go-to for bookmarks or gifting or inspiration. So you understand that I wouldn’t be sharing this if it didn’t genuinely give me a lump in my throat this morning:
Do the crazy thing, the hard-to-imagine-but-somehow-you-did-it thing, the brings-you-to-your-knees thing, the no-one-would-ever-do-it-that-way thing, the safety-net-would-not-even-matter thing, the it-could-kill-you-but-not-trying-is-another-kind-of-death thing. The thing on your heart. Do it and let them gasp. Right before they call it a thing of wonder.
It hit me in the face as I was scrolling through Pinterest, and it was intended for a fitness inspiration board (although two-second research seems to imply Rouse is actually best known for writing a book about praying in and with African countries, so I think my takeaway is somewhere in that gray space between the awesomeness of saving the world and the awesomeness of being skinny).
Doing the crazy thing.
It hit me today, one of those great, gasping moments when something inside suddenly comes to the surface and breaths freely again. I hadn’t realized there was a part of me calling myself an idiot for doing life this way—for being unsatisfied with my abilities as they are, the time that I have, the easier route. For having a baby and still wanting to publish. For scheming about home repairs and homeschooling, ruminating on feminism and politics, believing that sharing the breadwinning as well as the parenting with Carl would be an awesome thing for us, restless for spiritual truth and that really perfect chocolate chip cookie recipe.
I still want a lot out of life.
Although… people gasping and calling me a thing of wonder isn’t actually that high on my list. I was thinking more along the lines of a modest book deal and the mental fortitude to consider a second child.
Let’s not get too crazy.