There Is Only the Trying

Two summers ago, before I moved to London, I visited the city and found myself – as I often do – at the modern art museum. The Tate had a Cy Twombly exhibit, and as I walked through the rooms, I fell a little bit in love.

One particular print, “The Wilder Shores of Love,” stuck with me.

I have never been one for the beach. If you took one look at my pale skin, you’d understand why. But I do have a thing for the ocean. And I’ve had some important moments in my life sitting with the water lapping at my toes.

Moments when I saw “the more” I am always searching for. Moments when I realized that everything I have known is only the shoreline of love – love of friends, of family, but most importantly of God. Moments when I knew that, if I were brave enough – and I prayed I was brave enough, I would walk out a bit further each day into the ocean depths.

Which is a bit what this blog is about.

I’m not a brave person in general. I’m a writer, but I find it hard to find the courage to really write. I’m shy and reserved. And even the ladybugs that infiltrate my flat in the fall freak me out. But, as my favorite poet T.S. Eliot says: For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.