To be empty seems simple irony. Ironic because this world is oh-so-full.
Our calendars, our agendas, our plans, our homes. So. Much. Stuff. Our cities, our town, our highways, our public transportation. Full, full, full. Menus, plates, bowls, glasses. Full, and when they’re not full, someone is waiting to make them so again. Bookshelves. E-mail boxes. Magazine racks. Stuffed, full, packed. Closets, even. Full, full, full.
But for all this fullness, there exists profound emptiness.
So many of us are empty, empty, empty. Leading empty lives or chasing empty careers or making and breaking empty promises. Empty hearts, maybe, or empty souls.
And in looking to get filled, we just fill all the other things.
How many more days of empty? How many more minutes until full? How many more hours of empty? How much longer can we wait to get filled? Or maybe it’s the other way around — how long have we been waiting to get filled?
And so we seek. We settle on that new best thing, that new awesome thing. We hope to find the puzzle pieces and then put them together and maybe we won’t be empty. We tirelessly quest, we endlessly search, we desperately journey.
Maybe the secret to being less empty is simply to be less full.