I woke up this morning at 9:00.  The last time this happened my body had yet been unscathed by children.  It was weird and wonderful (sleeping in, but yeah, also having children: so wonderful, so weird).  I forgot about that feeling you get when you have acquired more than an adequate night’s sleep; one may even say too much sleep, but let’s not assume the worst.  There’s this fuzzy, almost still asleep, full head feeling.  I’ve talked about it before in Why Creativity Requires Breakfast.

On the rare occasion when I can sink into the silence as I am still somewhat connected to the dream state, I like to see where it will take my thoughts.  When I’m not in this state, it takes a ridiculous amount of peeling back the cerebral censorship of thoughts to get to the good stuff.  This morning, I snuck outside as the coffee was brewing, sat in the balmy heat, and listened as the birds chirped.

I’ve heard the same chirping for 35 years.  Experienced the same summers, the same Midwestern air, and something else.  For as long as I can remember, I have had this pull in my spirit, this longing for something more, genuine, and bottomless.

Children in summer are the perfect example for what I am trying to get at here.  They are so excited for WEEKS about the upcoming freedom of their time.  No more school, teachers, homework, and the prospect of it all is exhilarating.

Then, about two days into summer break, it happens.  They come to you with the universal complaint of every child in every summer, as long as children and summers have co-existed:  “I’m bored”.  They have waited for this day all year and now that it’s here, it’s not enough.  They’re bored. To. Death.  There is sidewalk chalk, pool memberships, bikes, scooters, art supplies, and yet, they’re bored.  What else, Mom?  What else?

I make fun, but I remember the feeling all too well.  I remember it, because it still sits with me sometimes.  The feeling like there is something bigger and better I should be doing.  Something more.  

As a kid, I wanted to create, I wanted to inspire, I wanted to fill the part of the universe that I was destined to fill and yet there I sat with a 1,000 piece puzzle.  It felt wrong.

Now, I’m thirty-five, “sleeping-in”, watching the cottonwood fall from the trees and collect on the grass like a fuzzy blanket, and I think I am realizing another truth that the struggle of chronic illness has taught me.  The “what else” is the desire.  It’s a famine with the glimpse of a promised land across the river.  It’s the honesty taught through regret and the hope born from despair.  

I was always meant to write, to encourage, to communicate, and yet it took a chronic illness to force me into this.  I sat the desire up on a shelf like it was some sort of reward or luxury that I could dabble with when everything else had been properly taken care of.  Yet, there was always this ache for more.

I’ve also found that this has always been tied to my spirituality.  The divine is more than I will ever be able to explain, or it wouldn’t be truly divine.  What kind of god is a god we can explain?  I do know that God is love.  But then, love is more than I have learned to define as well, nor likely will I ever, but I know that it includes healthy desire.  The desire that reaches outward from your chest and propels your inward, outward.  So, that healthy desire is part of the greater love, is part of the greater god, and this is were I am today.

Kids fill their boredom with video games, candy, T.V., etc.  Adults aren’t so different.  In our search for “what else” we get distracted.  I don’t always think these distractions are bad, and, in fact, I think they are needed, as I will discuss, but what I’m talking about now is the what else, and even more so the boredom with everything else that is not authentically you and your intended true thirst quenching lifeblood.  If we ignore it, and patch it with things we simply don’t care as much about, we essentially lose our motivation for existence.

Before I launch too far into that idea, though, I think it’s important to also point out that our desire for more can, often times, be found in less.  For example, I am always hoping for conversation that gets like “Oprah in the 90’s” kind of deep.  If someone starts crying, I consider this a success.  Secrets revealed?  We’ve hit the jackpot in human connection.  Someone starts jumping on the furniture?  Get him some help.  There’s something wrong with the man.

Anyway, in my continuous search for more, I’ve come to learn that something as subtle as a smile can also draw the inward outward.  This is particularly true with children.  Their something more, is quite often just me spending time with them.  Desire fulfilled.  Connection completed.  

The stuff I think you can leave out is the stuff that makes you no more you and others no more themselves.  What is it that you are doing or spending your time in that is not only boring, but not even close to you?  There is more in less, yes, but sometimes less is just less and it’s OK to leave it behind.  

So, as you all dive into your summer (both figuratively and literally – a little jelly of those of you literally diving in as I type this in ninety degree heat), I hope this serves as a reminder to continue to listen to the voice asking for more.  Identity your wellspring and don’t let it run dry.  In addition to this, though, friends, look for the intensity in the simple, the beauty in the boring moments, and your one opportunity to be a part of it all.