life is...

I don't know how to describe it. I know what I sense and feel. Like tonight, how I sat in a restaurant listening to a jazz quartet: the way the bass and keys and drums and vocals blended together in something whole and full and satisfying. But the singer had a forced smile. I sat with three people I care about--my cousins Phillip and Adam and my friend Kristen--and saw how we were not just bodies in the same place but memories and futures. None of it has ever been guaranteed, and yet here it was. I was thankful. My friend Cory played bass in the quartet, (which is the reason we went there at all) and I thought at the blessing it was to see three friendships connected in that one room. It was satisfying to be the connecting piece between friend, family, friend.
But I also felt really small in that place, as my one little life with family and friends. Perching in that little restaurant with the brick floor and the few others nodding their heads to the music and couples with wine, I felt so trapped in the singleness of that place and time. It was guilt, almost, (though I know it shouldn't be), for being so content and comfortable and settled in life. It seemed like it should be bigger, harder. Looking around I thought that probably no one else in the room saw outside their own lives like that at the moment, and it was like stepping out of time.
It was a late dark drive home. I had a hard time focusing on the road and felt an urgency to arrive, but I also felt a settled contentment that right at this moment, forgetting everything else, God is good.

How do I end up writing things that I don't even understand?