The past five years have been to and from and flights and car rides and new semesters and new places and new people and new jobs and since I was 18 life has been a perpetual run on sentence and I’ve never stopped.

How does one stop?

After I wrote these words at the beginning of last month, not knowing the answer to the question, I did the only thing I knew how to. 

I went.

I went in hardheaded intensity of trying to figure things out and drank a pot of coffee one morning and powered through crafting my CV and looking up to see that it was 4:00 p.m. and I had applied to 6 jobs and 2 hours later I had two interviews in Boston that would allow me to continue this run-on sentence that seemed to be going nowhere fast, and fast was the only thing that seemed to jive with my embedded sense of work and morality and it’s been something I’ve worked on since I spoke in church that Sunday morning when I was 18 about rest, and then proceeded to intensify the smallest thought or concern with anxiety of purpose and existential quandaries throughout the inside of the pinball machine of five young, heavy years (takes breath).

Yes, I went. Down to Boston. Down to the city that I had idealized as the only energizing, soul-lifting plot of land that I could possibly escape the depression of isolation that I had faced, but still respected enough to fear. Weeks before, I had lived a fairy-tale day in Boston with a friend. Sprawled out in a grassy park with just enough shade to make me chilly, she told stories of the community, accountability and friendship that was all wrapped up in Christ, a kind that I longed for.

So two weeks later I sat in a Starbucks in glasses and Mom’s grey pencil skirt, over an hour early to the interview and feeling kind of dowdy. I tried to enjoy my scone, despite the stomach pains, my faithful companions to any event more stressful than doing the dishes.

The first interview went well, I really liked the school, and Boston, was, well, Boston.

I got to feel the subtle rush of using the subway, which signified independence and memory, though of course it didn’t compare to Moscow. I observed an almost fight over some money or drugs that was filled with lots of expletives and made me wish I wasn’t alone. I had a guy my age drill me with a memorized speech to try to get me to donate money to Planned Parenthood. I ate Dunkin Donuts.

I had another interview the next day, a group interview in which I had to give a demo lesson. This one was less fun, of course, but I was able to at least give myself a solid B when I walked out.

And all throughout, I prayed for wisdom. 

And wisdom, He gave.

Though I couldn’t escape the intensity that is such a part of who I am, I felt peace. I think in the deepest place, I knew the answer before I boarded the bus, but this answer was confirmed in the voice of a beloved professor I got to visit and in the conversations with the girls I stayed with.

And the answer, for now, is Maine. I was offered the first job, and called in for a follow-up interview for the second. Financially, neither of them were the best choice, but that’s not why I’ve decided to stay put. I’ve decided to stay in Maine, because I’m finally surrendering to the truth that what I need most right now is a time to rest. 

I discovered that I’d been telling myself lies, preaching guilt-induced dogma that had no basis in the truth. I was telling myself that I had to abide by black and white rules I’d extracted from what the culture expects of me plus some twisted applications of Scripture, blind rules that didn’t take account of my unique situation. And there was also the doubt that God had the desire to meet my needs for rest and restoration of spirit.

I still have to fight the lies daily, even hourly, but I am becoming more at peace at where I will be in this next season of life. 23 doesn’t look like what I thought it would, but that’s okay. I have room to rest right now while still moving forward. In a few weeks, I’ll be starting online classes toward my MA in TESOL, I’ll be tutoring international students at UMaine, and even get to do some work at a local school that is close to my heart.

But above all, my number one goal in this season is to rest, to heal, to unlearn the patterns of anxious control, to learn how to be led.

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