We Are All Going to Die

Last night I had one of those thoughts that completely changed the direction of my mind.

I was thinking about the man I married again. Not in a desperate way. Not even in a particularly sad way. Just wondering. Wondering what could have been, what he might think if he saw me now, whether somewhere in another version of life we could have worked. The thoughts weren't consuming me, but they were there. Then, almost out of nowhere, another thought interrupted them. It was so abrupt that I almost laughed.

We're all going to die.

It wasn't morbid. It wasn't hopeless. If anything, it felt strangely freeing.

I started looking at my own thoughts from the outside. Here I was, voluntarily giving pieces of my attention to someone who is just as temporary as I am. Here I was revolving around questions that may never be answered while forgetting the only relationship that will still matter when this life is over. I don't mean that human love doesn't matter. It does. Deeply. But somewhere along the way I realized how easily I let earthly things become the center of my inner life. Heartbreak. Validation. Being chosen. Wondering if someone misses me. Wondering if they ever think about me. Even if those thoughts only visit occasionally now, they're still competing for space that belongs to God.

For a fraction of a second, I genuinely thought, Who cares? Not because people don't matter, but because I've been acting as though these questions deserve more of my heart than they actually do. If I gave God even half the attention I've freely given to replaying old conversations, imagined futures, and unanswered questions, I honestly think I would be so much freer. Maybe all of us would. We spend years orbiting around people who cannot save us while the One who can quietly waits for us to turn toward Him.

Another realization has been growing in me over the past few weeks. I don't know if I believe in love the way I used to. I don't mean that bitterly. Quite the opposite. I think I've stopped believing that being swept off my feet is the same thing as finding the person I'm meant to walk beside. I'm not as impressed by beauty anymore. I'm not as easily captivated by charisma. I don't even know what honest-to-God falling in love is supposed to feel like. Maybe I've never experienced it. Maybe I confused fascination, admiration, attachment, and hope with love. I honestly don't know.

What's strange is that this uncertainty doesn't scare me anymore. If anything, it feels peaceful. There are moments when I almost feel indifferent to the whole subject, and I wonder if that's healthy or if it's simply another season. Then, without warning, I'll catch these tiny glimpses of hope. Not hope about a particular person. Just hope that maybe one day I'll understand what love actually is. That maybe my heart isn't closing after all. Maybe it's just becoming quieter before it learns to recognize something real.

I'm still thinking about all of this today.

Maybe that's enough for now.

💜