seeds

F•R•I•E•N•D•S: 10 seasons. 6 months. About 83 hours of my life.

Predictable ending. Cheesy line upon cheesy line. Absolutely ridiculous romances and circumstances.

But also, really clever twists. And nail-biting moments. And crazy adventures that I wish were mine. And friendships that withstand insane conflicts. And freaking Joey Tribbiani.

AND ROSS AND RACHEL. QUICK SHOUTOUT TO THAT LOBSTER LOVE.

But regardless of how good or how bad Friends actually is, why the actual heck did I spend this January watching 5 full seasons?

And watching the other 5 seasons at the gym, between homework, making dinner or late at night in bed between February and June?

Why did I choose to spend my time starting at a screen for 83 hours, when there were plenty of other things that were far more pressing for my time?

Why do we even watch shows? Or go see movies? Or read books? Or listen to music? Or attend seminars & speeches? Or gaze at pieces of art? Or watch dance performances? Or follow others on social media?

Why do we spend so much of our time on things that aren’t tangibly productive?

Why am I typing this blog post?

Why am I a writer? Gosh dang. That’s the real question these days.

I got coffee with a friend last week and ended up letting her in on the secret of my mid-college crisis: I’m starting to doubt my passionate drive for writing, and my lifelong, undying certainty of its purpose in the world.

After over a month of hearing story after story from Calvin alumni, who are quite literally changing the world in a variety of ways, I’ve begun to doubt the tangible good that comes from writing.

It just seems like everyone else is making leaps and bounds for humankind, while I’m over here as the lowly messenger.

It feels like I’m a benchwarmer — like the kid who’s not talented enough with math & science & language & business & politics & most other things to actually hold a position on the team.

All I’m good at is taking stats of the people who are.

So I confided all of this in my friend, who nodded along with my every word, seeming to understand my thoughts before I even articulated them.

“I had the exact same doubts,” she said. As a 2016 Calvin grad with a writing degree, she had already wrestled with these struggles long before they were mine, too. And thankfully, she offered me truth for the both of us to cling to.

“Writers bring light to darkness — they bring truth,” she told me, with the utmost confidence. “We need story-tellers in the world just as much as we need doctors.”

At first, I didn’t believe her. Story-tellers don’t save lives, and therefore aren’t necessarily for survival, like doctors are. There are a lot of professions out there that our world needs literally in order to function, and I’m not convinced story-telling makes that cut.

But stories are needed to thrive.

We don’t thrive off of food, water and shelter. We don’t thrive off of a world that functions. We survive from the consistent sustaining of these things, but we don’t thrive from them — we thrive on the things we consume with our five senses that give us reasons for our hearts and minds to continue pressing on, not just the means to do so.

And those reasons are found in stories.

Stories of victory & redemption. Stories of honest struggle, reminding us that we’re not alone. Stories that challenge & compel us. Stories that are uncomfortable, but good. Stories that we have to wrestle with, and by doing so, we’re strengthened.

Stories that we need to continue engaging with every day so that we don’t lose sight of why we continue sustaining life.

Books. Poems. Song lyrics. TV & movie scripts. Paintings. Speeches. Dances. Newspapers, magazines, posters. Blogs. Even social media posts.

They’re the crayons we use to bring the outlined, fundamental aspects of our lives to life — and they’re what help us color outside of the lines, too.

So, I might not have the knowledge, capability or resources to physically change this earth or better our communities (working on that, though). But I do have the power to plant seeds in the minds & hearts of others who do have those things, which might grow into ideas that they harvest to better the world with.

And if my Abba is calling me to a life of planting seeds in literature, music, online or anywhere else, then gosh dangit, I’m freaking honored — & I’m heading for the fields.