Wanting and Sand-dollars

My friend Shannon does this thing.

She sometimes will ask people point blank, in a very serious tone of voice, "What do you want?" She asks them to respond truthfully, and to be vulnerable. She gets impatient when people respond with answers like, "World peace," because that's too easy. Apparently a guy responded with that once, and Shannon said, "No-- come on. You have to get real. What do YOU want?"

He looked at her and said defensively, "Okay. You really want to know? I want a harem. That's what guys are really thinking when you ask them that."

I sort of hope that's not true for all guys, but in any case: Shannon asks people to get real, and typically succeeds in getting a REAL response. That's just the way it works for a person like Shannon.

She asked me once what I wanted. I said, "Honestly?" And paused. Then, in an apologetic tone, I said, "I want to be a wife and mom. That's what I really want."

I think I feel the need to apologize because I wish I could be one of those women who just doesn't care-- who doesn't think twice about the fact that she's 26 and single. But-- in all honestly-- I really hope I get to be a wife and mom someday. I don't want that because I'm dissatisfied with my life right now; I really love my life right now. I love getting to go on adventures, and I love that my heart is finally starting to feel restful again, and I feel strongly that I'm not married yet for a good reason. God knows what He's doing in that area of my life. He's making a good story with my life.

I really hope that story eventually includes being a wife and mom.

I want that so badly in fact that, whenever people talk about whether or not they'd be ready to die or, "What if the world ended today and we all were up in heaven, wouldn't that be awesome?" I always say, "-- I wouldn't be ready yet. There's too much I still want to do on earth."

When I say that, I'm thinking: ride on an elephant, sky-dive, write a book, live in France for a year. I'm also thinking: I want to experienced being married to a best friend. I want to push my own child on a swing.

I want that.

Frankly-- I don't think that's the right answer. I think you're supposed to want to go to heaven lickety split, no matter what you haven't done on earth yet. My second semester's unit for my AP English class is structured around a line from a Wordsworth poem: "The world is too much with us." All the books for second semester feature characters that are overwhelmed by societal concerns or worldly constraints.

Probably, the world is too much with me.

Shannon and Carly and I were talking about this again-- what we want-- when we were in the hot tub the other night. I'll tell you what folks: conversation is rich in the hot tub. "What did you answer again?" Shannon asked me. I reminded her. I sort of felt miffed that I had to remind her. It made me feel like my answer hadn't been very remarkable, even though I'd felt like it was a major thing to openly confess. So I tried again.

"I guess I could answer, 'I want the sand-dollar moment again,'" I told Shannon. She and Carly both looked at me.

"The sand dollar moment?"

The sand dollar moment is from a beach walk I'd taken when I lived in Malibu. It was this incredible day-- I felt full and happy and my heart felt like it was a giant helium balloon. I got my pants soaked, because I couldn't help skipping in the waves. I climbed a giant rock at one point and let the waves congratulate me, and I did ballet moves on top of the rock, and if I'd fallen I might have died, but I was so happy I didn't think it was possible-- I felt like I would more likely have floated off. And, at the beginning of the walk, I had found sand-dollars. I'd told myself, "These are magical sand-dollars. I can buy anything I want with these." ... But-- I couldn't think of anything I really wanted that I didn't already have. I found mussels that had opened and looked like butterflies. I found starfish. I found sea anemones, and made friends with strangers. I saw happy children. I felt so RICH-- I felt so full and so happy. I ended up throwing the sand-dollars back into the waves because I decided I didn't need them. I had everything.

I told all this to Carly and Shannon. I said, "I think that's what I really want. To not want anything. To be content and FULL with what I already have."

Shannon nodded slowly. "'I want the sand dollar moment.' Yeah."

My cousin turned 17 this week. We celebrated her birthday last night, and I gave her a sand-dollar necklace that I'd found at a vintage store. I wore my own sand-dollar necklace that I'd found years ago at another vintage store. I told my cousin the story of my sand dollar walk, and told her it seemed like a "getting older" gift.

So today, at church, Pastor Richard talked about what it means to live in a place of freedom, in a place that's free of fear, that's free of clutching onto things. It was basically a sermon for those whom "the world is too much with." Richard talked about living with the ending in mind. Those that are free from fear live like they already know the ending to the story. Essentially, they live with heaven in mind. They have every reason to hope. They don't need to feel afraid for one second.

If the world ended today, those fear-free people would be pumped.

I think it's okay that I want to be a wife and mom someday. But I think it's better to seek the sand-dollar moment. I would like to be someone that would be ready for a place like heaven lickety splity-- even though I haven't had a ride on an elephant yet. Even though I'm not yet married.

I think I'm going to try to let go of the first want. It will probably take a little while to get there, but that's the way it goes with getting anywhere. I'm going to try to open my hands and let the clutchy desire to be a wife and mom float away like a full helium balloon, because when it comes down to it: I don't need to buy anything with my magical sand-dollars. I am right where I need to be, and I can be content with exactly what I have. Other gifts may come eventually, and if that happens, then wow: rock on.

But if they don't, I want to be someone that radiates "Enough." I want to radiate, "Content." I want to radiate, "Peaceful."

There I go again. "I want."

I want open hands. I want baby steps. I want the ending in mind.

I want a long slow arc of a magical sand-dollar being tossed back into congratulatory waves.