When you feel like you don’t matter (god’s gps)

Feeling like you don't matter?

Pretend for a moment you had a god's-eye-view GPS. Top of the line. God, she don't cut corners on this shit.

It's raining out. You're splayed on the couch and pull out the device, zoom out, and project your entire life on the ceiling. There's a slider bar that moves you from your past, on the left, to the present, on the right. And as you move it a thousand-thousand little dots move toward you and away from you like waves of ants as you route the ruts in the geography of your life.

You zoom in and see a thousand-thousand plus signs; you zoom in farther and each plus sign sharpens to show an intersection you've had with the dots, who turn out to be people you've crossed paths with over the course of your life.

A handful shimmer for attention and you zoom in farther and see:

A forgotten friend you loved at the only possible time their self-doubt could have been permanently erased;

A forgiven relative you walked through the worst time you had either seen and cleared the way for the next generation, and

a cluster of forgotten-forgottens: 17 people whose arcs you helped repair and reimagine and relaunch into mended futures through a word or a touch or a prayer.

You hand the GPS back to god and just before she leaves ask her how to lock in what you've seen but that you're sure you'll forget when the serotonin is shit and situations are unbearable and life is falling in on you.

She points to the corner, to the final intersection you need to attend to, to cement the vision and worth you witnessed; to finally start to Be.

You take the feedback,

look in the mirror,

genuinely smile,

and start to explore what Home feels like.