If you follow me on Twitter, you know that work is a little crazy right now. More than a little crazy. Stabby, Ragey, and Resentful, to name a few of the lesser-known dwarves (spell check is telling me "dwarfs" is the correct term here and I'm just not sure I can live in a world where that's true). Hard to believe though it may be, I have once again found myself in an untenable boss/employee relationship, and at this point it's basically an Internet meme. But lamer and without cats. That's not even what this post is about.
Since 40 hours or more of my week are so frustrating and sideways, I've been allowing the rest of my life to get frustrating and sideways, too. I haven't been eating well, which means weight gain and spending too much money eating out. I haven't been resting well (intentionally taking time to do things that fill me up like reading my Bible, going for walks, or a dozen other beneficial things) and have instead been allowing myself to get mindlessly television-drunk to avoid dealing with my emotions. I've been skipping out on my Tuesday night church thing because I just don't want to do anything after another awful day at work. Recently, I've even been skipping church on Sunday, using my Christianese excuse of "sabbathing" which basically just means I wanted to sleep in, and I've experienced a noticeable decline in my attitude, perspective, and ability to deal with the misbehavior of others. Huh, stop spending time worshiping the One who gives me grace and I am suddenly unable to extend grace to others. Weird...
Anyway, I've had enough. I refuse to let this one area of my life infect the others. And I refuse to let another boss or job have this much power over me. It's going to take more energy and more deliberate planning, but I need to take control where I can find it and start living life on my own terms. Oh, good Lord, I sound like a cheesy self-help book. Next thing you know, I'm going to be talking about pampering my inner goddess and waking up to the existential power of the glowing temple of the pool of inner light within my subconscious MIND or something. Geez. Mostly, I just want to stop feeling like I hate everything.
So. I'm back at WeightWatchers. I know, same song, different verse. But so far, it's the only thing I've tried that has given me any kind of success. As you might remember, I was posting regularish updates last summer about my weight loss. Then this day happened, and I just kind of fell off the wagon. I have lots of excuses, most of which bear the names of national holidays at which we eat copious amounts of food, but it doesn't really matter. One of the major reasons I picked up and moved across the country was that I needed to change some patterns in my life (huh, another song on repeat), including my weight. Now here it is, over a year later, and I'm about 25 pounds lighter than when I got here. Twenty-five pounds is nothing to sneeze at, to be sure, but it's far from my goal. I have almost 100 pounds to lose yet, so a few weeks ago, I restarted tracking my food. I'm still not going to meetings, because that leader kind of ruined it for me for now. But if you look at the proverbial weight loss wagon, you'll see me, uh...teetering on the back edge. But I'm IN and that's what counts for now.
I don't know that I'll be posting weekly updates or not. You all saw how well I maintained that last time. Plus, who really cares? I mean, *I* do, obviously. And I'm sure that some or most of you are kind and compassionate human beings who are happy to cheer someone on as they do something good for themselves. But who really wants to read the statistics of my scale every week? Probably no one but me, and that's perfectly fine. I lost about 5 pounds in the first week (no expectations of continuing at that pace, but it was a nice surprise on Friday morning), so it's going well so far. I also have a goal to walk 20 miles in April. I'm at about 4 so far, so we'll see. But I wrote it in the bullet journal, so it's bound to happen.
Showing posts with label TEXAAAAAS. Show all posts
Showing posts with label TEXAAAAAS. Show all posts
11.11.2013
Grand Adventurous Schemes for Adventuring and Stuff
When Roommate and I were in college, we had these grand adventurous schemes. Well, really, Roommate had these grand adventurous schemes for adventuring and also going on adventures and I would stand next to her, nodding along while silently thanking sweet baby Jesus that we had neither the funding nor the time to accomplish any of them. Adventurer, I am not. This is why Roommate and I are so good for each other. She pushes me to be brave and I keep her from finagling her way onto the roof of the science building and possibly getting killed or worse, expelled.
I remember once idly commenting that the fountain in the middle of the quad would be really fun to play in, since its bowl was just a sunken portion of the quad with no barriers, and that maybe someday we would sneak out of the dorms late at night and run through it (because I was pretty sure there was a rule somewhere that you were not to play in the Fountain of the Holy Spirit or at least it was REALLY frowned upon by the priests who ran our school). Roommate's eyes lit with a fanatical gleam and I instantly cringed, because I knew one way or another, I was going to end up in that fountain. And sure enough, amid the stress and worry of studying for our last set of finals of our Freshman year, Roommate suggested the perfect way to blow off a little steam.
And oh. my. god. It was SO cold. I spent much of it worrying we were breaking eight million rules and possibly angering God Almighty and also there was a random creepy dude who was definitely not a student sitting in the shadows of the quad watching us, even though it was well after midnight and no members of the public should have been anywhere near that part of campus, GOOD JOB PUBLIC SAFETY. But it was, hands-down, my favorite memory from that year. In fact, the picture of Roommate and I dripping wet and shivering afterward with my patented Uncomfortably Close and Awkward hug remains one of my favorite pictures of us in existence.
It became a tradition--on the Monday of Finals Week (which never had a final and often had your last class of the quarter, even if you were scheduled to take the final for that class the next morning and there was no way you would be learning anything new that day because sometimes my school was ridiculous), when the clock neared midnight, we would drop our books and scamper to the quad and, with muffled shrieks of glee and oh-my-God-that's-freezing-why-do-we-even-do-this-to-our-selves, we would fling ourselves in and out of the fountain, trying hard not to impale our limbs on the abstract sheet metal flame-ish things that were meant to represent the fire of the Holy Spirit (OR SOMETHING I WAS NOT AN ART MAJOR) or stub our frozen toes on the strategically placed fake boulders that were supposed to represent man's Earthbound flesh (I'm completely making crap up don't trust a word I say). And also avoid the lurking creepers who kindly offer to take photos fro you so that you don't end up with what will later be dubbed the "selfie."
Sometimes, we took friends with us. Sometimes, we went just the two of us. We NEVER went in Fall Quarter when, much to Roommate's chagrin and my everlasting gratitude, the school shut down the fountain to avoid the FROZEN LAKE METAL SPIKE DEATH TRAP that would inevitably ensue in the Pacific Northwest in December. We took pictures in the fountain in our robes on graduation day. The night before we handed over the keys to our apartment and went our separate ways, we waded through, opting not for the rambunctious shenanigans of our "younger" days, but for a more sedate and placid good-bye (OKAY I HAD A TUMMYACHE because I moronically refused to "waste" the leftover food in our fridge and spent our last days EATING IT INSTEAD WHAT AM I NEW?).
Oh my God, Elise, that wasn't even the point of the post. The point of ALL that was to say that Roommate makes me brave. She is so very good for me. But when she gets that gleam in her eye, the introverted play-it-safe line-toer inside of me just quakes. Because I know it's going to be awesome, but it's going to push me out of my microscopic comfort zone. And most of the time, it's not even anything dangerous or illegal or even scary to anyone who is not a chicken (*cough*me*cough*).
And the whole point of THAT is just to intro my ACTUAL topic for this evening, OH MY GOD STOP TYPING. So. Roommate has schemes; she makes me brave; I spend a lot of time praying her schemes never come to fruition because I am a big fat fraidy cat. Twenty-eight words. 28. Seriously, me?
Anyway, during our junior year, when we were living with Liar in our Ghetto Palace, Roommate suggested we take a road trip. And I smiled encouragingly, thinking it would be like that time we drove from [Prominent Pacific Northwest City] to [Prominent Non-United States City] for a three day weekend, except without as much Vicodin and I would remember to wear pajamas. Oh God, I want to leave that sentence as it is and just let you guys wonder, but I am terrible and being mysterious and also I'm a truth-teller (it goes hand-in-hand with being a line-toer) so I will divert this post a SECOND TIME to tell you the really lame story of our trip to the Great North (which is NOT Far North, but IS Far North Adjacent). [If you'd rather live with the mystery and just get on with this post, meet me at the next paragraph.] We had planned it for months for the first long weekend of the term. My friends wanted to go drink somewhere it was legal to do so at age 19 (as if they didn't take the copious opportunities to drink illegally right where we were, but whatev) and I wanted to see some place new. But right before we went, my friend broke her hand playing rugby and had to have surgery. But since we were using her car to get us there and we'd already paid for the hotel, she came along hopped up on painkillers. Oh, and I forgot to pack pajamas. Nothing bad actually happened to my pajamas or myself without them (except I had to sleep in my jeans or nothing at all in a shared bed in a cheap motel). That's all. You would have been better off with the mystery, huh? Sucks for you that I have Chronic Honesty And Truth Telling Effusive Reaction (or as the professionals call it: C.H.A.T.T.E.R.).
And we're back. So I'm thinking, fun day-trip! Maybe a weekend in Eastern [Name of Pacifically Northwestern-most Pacific Northwest State]. At best, something out of state, maybe to her hometown a couple days' drive south. Nooooo. That will not DO for Roommate. No, she has GRAND adventurous schemes, remember? One day, she comes home with a map of the US and a box of stick pins (you know, the kind with the colored plastic ball at the end that you see in cop shows to mark the places in the crime scene photographs where they found evidence? Those ones). So we cleared a wall of the office (Ghetto Palace, remember? We totally had an office. Or a really tiny, oddly shaped third bedroom that no one wanted so Roommate and I ended up bunking together. Literally. With bunk beds. We were sooooo cool.), put up the map, and began marking the places we wanted to see. I got the red pins. She got the yellow ones. And blue were for... God, I can't remember. Towns with funny names? Yeah, I think that was it. Towns with ridiculous names that we wanted to visit sight unseen, just based on the name alone. Maine had some really spectacular ones, if I remember correctly.
And we began to plot our course. We were going to graduate college and immediately get our dream jobs. Mine would be on the East Coast, because that's where my industry was based and all the best graduate schools were there and of course I was going to have the time, money, and drive to work full-time AND go to school. Sure! Hers was in England. So we were going to drive across the country together with all of our stuff in the back of the car, making our way through sights and tourist traps and WORLD'S LARGEST WHATEVERTHINGAMABOB and crazily named towns. Eventually, we would end up in the [Insert Major Metropolitan City and Seat of Power on the East Coast], where my dream job would be waiting for me. Like, literally, they would have been waiting two months while I drove across the country at a leisurely pace, taking breaks for adventures wherever they found us, as Corporate America is more than happy to do for inexperienced new grads with no references and bad interviewing skills. From there, Roommate would board the next available flight across the Atlantic with only the possessions she could fit in a carry-on and take off for the British Isles, where HER dream job would be waiting, but not before she stayed in a few hostels and really roughed it for a few weeks, probably meeting a punk rocker who also played professional football (or as we stupid Americans call it, SOCCER) and falling madly in love.
It was, in short, pure fantasy. And it was SO fun to dream about these things, especially for me, since I put very little stock into our ability to accomplish any of it. I could dream and put pins in our wall with abandon, knowing they didn't constitute anything more than a flight of fancy. A few months later, we moved out of the Ghetto Palace (partly due to the financial tomfoolery of Liar and partly due to the encroachment of the ghetto into our palace and the gunfire that became a common feature of our evenings).
We carefully took the pins out of the map and unsuccessfully tried to refold the map into its original impossible 9"X4" rectangle (DAMN YOU RAND MCNALLY). We had grand plans of putting it up in the new place, but we never got around to it. As graduation loomed ever nearer, we realized there would be no "perfect jobs" and actually, thanks to the credit crisis and the economic downturn, there may be no jobs at all. We were both moving home to our respective hometowns to mooch off our parental units until we could scrape something together. The road trip had died.
The plans for the last hurrah shrank in some ways and expanded in others. Instead of several months, we chose a week. Instead of just the two of us, we included three of our close friends. Instead of across the country, we crossed part of an ocean, staying in Roommate's uncle's beach house on the North Shore of Oahu. And it was perfect. And as you might have guessed, I had to be talked into even THAT small of a plan (see also: CHICKEN). The five of us made a pact that no matter where we were in life, we would come back in five years. Next summer will be five years. I don't think many of us thought we would have spent the last five years the way each of us have, but for better or worse, at least four of us are going to make it back to that beach house next year. I don't care if I have to sell a kidney to make it happen. What? I've got two. I bet I'll barely miss the other one.
While I was in Far North, Roommate didn't really bring up the road trip. It's just too hard to even find time to fly to one another, let alone drive anywhere. But now that I live in Texas, Roommate has that gleam in her eye again. She has new grand adventurous schemes for NOLA and Nashville and Graceland and the Grand Canyon, using my place as a home base. And this time, I'm actually considering it. I don't have a map or pins yet, but I think I might be brave enough to buy some soon.
I remember once idly commenting that the fountain in the middle of the quad would be really fun to play in, since its bowl was just a sunken portion of the quad with no barriers, and that maybe someday we would sneak out of the dorms late at night and run through it (because I was pretty sure there was a rule somewhere that you were not to play in the Fountain of the Holy Spirit or at least it was REALLY frowned upon by the priests who ran our school). Roommate's eyes lit with a fanatical gleam and I instantly cringed, because I knew one way or another, I was going to end up in that fountain. And sure enough, amid the stress and worry of studying for our last set of finals of our Freshman year, Roommate suggested the perfect way to blow off a little steam.
And oh. my. god. It was SO cold. I spent much of it worrying we were breaking eight million rules and possibly angering God Almighty and also there was a random creepy dude who was definitely not a student sitting in the shadows of the quad watching us, even though it was well after midnight and no members of the public should have been anywhere near that part of campus, GOOD JOB PUBLIC SAFETY. But it was, hands-down, my favorite memory from that year. In fact, the picture of Roommate and I dripping wet and shivering afterward with my patented Uncomfortably Close and Awkward hug remains one of my favorite pictures of us in existence.
It became a tradition--on the Monday of Finals Week (which never had a final and often had your last class of the quarter, even if you were scheduled to take the final for that class the next morning and there was no way you would be learning anything new that day because sometimes my school was ridiculous), when the clock neared midnight, we would drop our books and scamper to the quad and, with muffled shrieks of glee and oh-my-God-that's-freezing-why-do-we-even-do-this-to-our-selves, we would fling ourselves in and out of the fountain, trying hard not to impale our limbs on the abstract sheet metal flame-ish things that were meant to represent the fire of the Holy Spirit (OR SOMETHING I WAS NOT AN ART MAJOR) or stub our frozen toes on the strategically placed fake boulders that were supposed to represent man's Earthbound flesh (I'm completely making crap up don't trust a word I say). And also avoid the lurking creepers who kindly offer to take photos fro you so that you don't end up with what will later be dubbed the "selfie."
Sometimes, we took friends with us. Sometimes, we went just the two of us. We NEVER went in Fall Quarter when, much to Roommate's chagrin and my everlasting gratitude, the school shut down the fountain to avoid the FROZEN LAKE METAL SPIKE DEATH TRAP that would inevitably ensue in the Pacific Northwest in December. We took pictures in the fountain in our robes on graduation day. The night before we handed over the keys to our apartment and went our separate ways, we waded through, opting not for the rambunctious shenanigans of our "younger" days, but for a more sedate and placid good-bye (OKAY I HAD A TUMMYACHE because I moronically refused to "waste" the leftover food in our fridge and spent our last days EATING IT INSTEAD WHAT AM I NEW?).
Oh my God, Elise, that wasn't even the point of the post. The point of ALL that was to say that Roommate makes me brave. She is so very good for me. But when she gets that gleam in her eye, the introverted play-it-safe line-toer inside of me just quakes. Because I know it's going to be awesome, but it's going to push me out of my microscopic comfort zone. And most of the time, it's not even anything dangerous or illegal or even scary to anyone who is not a chicken (*cough*me*cough*).
And the whole point of THAT is just to intro my ACTUAL topic for this evening, OH MY GOD STOP TYPING. So. Roommate has schemes; she makes me brave; I spend a lot of time praying her schemes never come to fruition because I am a big fat fraidy cat. Twenty-eight words. 28. Seriously, me?
Anyway, during our junior year, when we were living with Liar in our Ghetto Palace, Roommate suggested we take a road trip. And I smiled encouragingly, thinking it would be like that time we drove from [Prominent Pacific Northwest City] to [Prominent Non-United States City] for a three day weekend, except without as much Vicodin and I would remember to wear pajamas. Oh God, I want to leave that sentence as it is and just let you guys wonder, but I am terrible and being mysterious and also I'm a truth-teller (it goes hand-in-hand with being a line-toer) so I will divert this post a SECOND TIME to tell you the really lame story of our trip to the Great North (which is NOT Far North, but IS Far North Adjacent). [If you'd rather live with the mystery and just get on with this post, meet me at the next paragraph.] We had planned it for months for the first long weekend of the term. My friends wanted to go drink somewhere it was legal to do so at age 19 (as if they didn't take the copious opportunities to drink illegally right where we were, but whatev) and I wanted to see some place new. But right before we went, my friend broke her hand playing rugby and had to have surgery. But since we were using her car to get us there and we'd already paid for the hotel, she came along hopped up on painkillers. Oh, and I forgot to pack pajamas. Nothing bad actually happened to my pajamas or myself without them (except I had to sleep in my jeans or nothing at all in a shared bed in a cheap motel). That's all. You would have been better off with the mystery, huh? Sucks for you that I have Chronic Honesty And Truth Telling Effusive Reaction (or as the professionals call it: C.H.A.T.T.E.R.).
And we're back. So I'm thinking, fun day-trip! Maybe a weekend in Eastern [Name of Pacifically Northwestern-most Pacific Northwest State]. At best, something out of state, maybe to her hometown a couple days' drive south. Nooooo. That will not DO for Roommate. No, she has GRAND adventurous schemes, remember? One day, she comes home with a map of the US and a box of stick pins (you know, the kind with the colored plastic ball at the end that you see in cop shows to mark the places in the crime scene photographs where they found evidence? Those ones). So we cleared a wall of the office (Ghetto Palace, remember? We totally had an office. Or a really tiny, oddly shaped third bedroom that no one wanted so Roommate and I ended up bunking together. Literally. With bunk beds. We were sooooo cool.), put up the map, and began marking the places we wanted to see. I got the red pins. She got the yellow ones. And blue were for... God, I can't remember. Towns with funny names? Yeah, I think that was it. Towns with ridiculous names that we wanted to visit sight unseen, just based on the name alone. Maine had some really spectacular ones, if I remember correctly.
And we began to plot our course. We were going to graduate college and immediately get our dream jobs. Mine would be on the East Coast, because that's where my industry was based and all the best graduate schools were there and of course I was going to have the time, money, and drive to work full-time AND go to school. Sure! Hers was in England. So we were going to drive across the country together with all of our stuff in the back of the car, making our way through sights and tourist traps and WORLD'S LARGEST WHATEVERTHINGAMABOB and crazily named towns. Eventually, we would end up in the [Insert Major Metropolitan City and Seat of Power on the East Coast], where my dream job would be waiting for me. Like, literally, they would have been waiting two months while I drove across the country at a leisurely pace, taking breaks for adventures wherever they found us, as Corporate America is more than happy to do for inexperienced new grads with no references and bad interviewing skills. From there, Roommate would board the next available flight across the Atlantic with only the possessions she could fit in a carry-on and take off for the British Isles, where HER dream job would be waiting, but not before she stayed in a few hostels and really roughed it for a few weeks, probably meeting a punk rocker who also played professional football (or as we stupid Americans call it, SOCCER) and falling madly in love.
It was, in short, pure fantasy. And it was SO fun to dream about these things, especially for me, since I put very little stock into our ability to accomplish any of it. I could dream and put pins in our wall with abandon, knowing they didn't constitute anything more than a flight of fancy. A few months later, we moved out of the Ghetto Palace (partly due to the financial tomfoolery of Liar and partly due to the encroachment of the ghetto into our palace and the gunfire that became a common feature of our evenings).
We carefully took the pins out of the map and unsuccessfully tried to refold the map into its original impossible 9"X4" rectangle (DAMN YOU RAND MCNALLY). We had grand plans of putting it up in the new place, but we never got around to it. As graduation loomed ever nearer, we realized there would be no "perfect jobs" and actually, thanks to the credit crisis and the economic downturn, there may be no jobs at all. We were both moving home to our respective hometowns to mooch off our parental units until we could scrape something together. The road trip had died.
The plans for the last hurrah shrank in some ways and expanded in others. Instead of several months, we chose a week. Instead of just the two of us, we included three of our close friends. Instead of across the country, we crossed part of an ocean, staying in Roommate's uncle's beach house on the North Shore of Oahu. And it was perfect. And as you might have guessed, I had to be talked into even THAT small of a plan (see also: CHICKEN). The five of us made a pact that no matter where we were in life, we would come back in five years. Next summer will be five years. I don't think many of us thought we would have spent the last five years the way each of us have, but for better or worse, at least four of us are going to make it back to that beach house next year. I don't care if I have to sell a kidney to make it happen. What? I've got two. I bet I'll barely miss the other one.
While I was in Far North, Roommate didn't really bring up the road trip. It's just too hard to even find time to fly to one another, let alone drive anywhere. But now that I live in Texas, Roommate has that gleam in her eye again. She has new grand adventurous schemes for NOLA and Nashville and Graceland and the Grand Canyon, using my place as a home base. And this time, I'm actually considering it. I don't have a map or pins yet, but I think I might be brave enough to buy some soon.
11.10.2013
Something New (Two. Two Things New.)
Back at the end of September, I planned out NaBloPoMo on a calendar and scheduled Saturdays to be "new" things. Last week was a new habit (which I told you about and did not actually implement yet, sooooo...success?). This week was supposed to be a new place. I meant that in very broad terms, like "try a new restaurant" or "go to a museum" or something else that would force to to go explore Dallas more than I have in the last nine months. And while I DID accomplish some of that while my parents were here (we went to the zoo, the aquarium, the arboretum, two outlet malls, and a dozen new restaurants), I actually have a much more literal answer for this post.
I put a deposit on an apartment. New place, indeed! There's no reason my application should be denied, so it should be mine within the week. If all goes as planned, I move in January 1st. That's just in time for me to fly home to Far North at Christmas and pack all my belongings (yay, purple couch!) into a moving van headed for Texas. I'm really excited and also worried I've made a giant mistake. Which is how I feel about all decisions, large or small. Seriously, how important is which Chapstick brand I choose? Pivotal, apparently.
Anyway. Except for three months during relocation in Far North, I've never lived alone. I've never set up an apartment for myself. This is exciting and thrilling and very adultish. Also, it feels a little crazy that I'm doing this in TEXAS. If you asked me a few years ago, I never would have said this is where I'd be. And I am so glad this is where I've ended up. No regrets.
It also feels a little bit like moving away for a second time. In March, I got on a plane to move here. For all intents and purposes, I HAVE moved here. But getting an apartment (even more than getting a job) makes is really real. If that makes any sense, which it probably doesn't. Oh well.
I had planned for next Saturday to be about a new experience. I'll admit right here that I was stretching a bit when I wrote that. I had no idea what that was going to look like. It just sounded good on my calendar. And since none of you were going to see it, it didn't matter if I didn't do it.
Well, I have a new experience to report: I got pulled over by a cop last night. First time ever. Apparently, I had failed to use my turn signal. In a dedicated turn lane. It would have been illegal for me to do anything other than turn. And I used my signal to GET INTO the lane. But apparently, it turned itself off. Or I accidentally turned it off. Who knows? I did not end up with a ticket, probably partly due to the fact that I USED MY TURN SIGNAL to pull over for the cop. Because I'm a CHRONIC SIGNALER. Seriously, I signal EVERYWHERE. Into the driveway. In parking lots. EVERY. WHERE. I did not expect those words to come out go the cop's mouth (I had no idea what she was going to say, since I didn't think I was breaking any laws).
Now, I speed more often that I should (which is, ever. I should not speed ever. I know.). I sometimes don't come to a COMPLETE stop at four way stops when no one else is around or when I'm turning right on a red and the other lane is clear for miles. I break traffic laws from time to time and I shouldn't. And I have renewed conviction to fix these issues, thank you, Officer. But signaling HAS NEVER been a thing I break the law with.
I really don't know where I think this indignation is taking me. I did not get a ticket. It was a less-than-five-minute interaction. The officer was very nice--she even wished me a good evening. Nothing bad happened. And yet, I am indignant. Fruitlessly and ridiculously indignant. And at least it's a new experience. I wonder what I'll write about next Saturday?
9.26.2013
This Is Going to Sound Crazy...
Today, I'm going to share a secret. Well, it's not a really secrety secret, like I've spent time worrying that someone might find out. It's more like something that's been on my mind and in my heart for a long time and I haven't really known what to do about it, but now I'm ready to talk about it. So don't brace yourself for a big reveal or anything, just... Wow, I am intro-ing myself into oblivion. Let's start over, shall we?
If you've read my blog for any amount of time, you know all about my job and joblessness woes--more than you probably ever wanted to know. For the uninitiated: I left college, got a job with a crazy person, spent 6 months unemployed and zombie-like, took another job with a crazy person, spent 20 months unemployed, moved to Texas, got a job, and now here we are.
During the last few months of my last job and for the entirety of my second bout of unemployment, I prayed for a direction. Was I supposed to take another job in my industry or chart a new path? Where did God want me to work? Where would I do my best and make the world better and serve Him with my abilities? When no voice from heaven came and the doors kept closing on job opportunities, I got discouraged and cried out to God for any kind of relief. After a many months, God told me (not audibly--I'm not entirely crazy) to move here to Dallas. And many of you would see that as God answering my prayer for direction. It was an actual, geographic direction provided by God. Boom, prayer answered. And that's absolutely true.
Except. I never told you (and I only told a few people at the time) that I was getting an another answer from Him the whole time. Every time I prayed about my future, I got this simple and ridiculous answer:
And I knew it wasn't from me. I KNEW it, because every time I heard it, I would chuckle nervously and whisper, "You're kidding, right, Jesus?" It was as close as I was willing to get to consciously telling God, "No." I didn't want to be a foster mom, but I knew I NEEDED to be one. I wanted to get a job, get married, and have my own biological children and maybe someday WITH MY HUSBAND, adopt or foster. I wanted the perfect life, the American dream, the self-focused desire for my children to have my eyes and my husband's laugh. I was never opposed to adoption or fostering, it was just something I supported other people doing. I especially didn't want all of the fear of adoption--what if it doesn't go through? what if the birth mother wants them back? what if they're older and we never really bond? what if I'm not good at it because they're not "mine"?--and I didn't want all of the problems I'd heard about with fostering--what if they're troubled? what if I can't handle their issues? what do I do when I have to give them back? will I always hold a piece of my heart back because I know it's not permanent?--and yet there it remained, month after month, an ache deep in my heart for these parent-less children.
And the someone, not knowing about my internal struggle, brought up the Bible verse that says, "Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart" and taught me what the verse really means. It does not mean that God is a genie and gives you what you desire; it means he gives you the desires themselves. This was from Him and even though it was CRAZY, I could kind of see His point: I love children; I have always felt like I was created to be a mom; Even in unemployment, I was so blessed and more than many other people. So I eventually kind of accepted the premise and said, "Okay, God, FINE! I'll be a foster mom. Someday. But I have no income and I live in my sister's house. That's not really an option right now. So, thanks and all, but can I have a different answer? One that's more applicable to my immediate issues? Like a JOB?"
And then God laughed and laughed. I mean, ahem. He provided a way for me to move to Texas and start a new life here. But here's the thing: this thought? It hasn't gone away (I thought it might. I maybe even hoped it might. I thought maybe it was a phase or a far-in-the-future thing that God allowed me to get a glimpse of). It disappeared from constant view amid the moving to Texas stuff, but a few weeks into my new job here, there was a day that was like ADOPTIONPALOOZA in my life. Among other things that happened that day, I was researching something else entirely and came across a fostering site with pictures of kids waiting for homes (side note, I'm not sure how I feel about this, since it feels a little like a department store website where you can pick out the prettiest dress or something...), then a blogger I read announced they were adopting and talked about THE SAME struggles I'd had and how they worked through them, AND THEN the novel I was reading to took a radical and unforeseen turn that ended with the main character taking custody of several children. And the whispering began again, but slightly different this time:
If you've read my blog for any amount of time, you know all about my job and joblessness woes--more than you probably ever wanted to know. For the uninitiated: I left college, got a job with a crazy person, spent 6 months unemployed and zombie-like, took another job with a crazy person, spent 20 months unemployed, moved to Texas, got a job, and now here we are.
During the last few months of my last job and for the entirety of my second bout of unemployment, I prayed for a direction. Was I supposed to take another job in my industry or chart a new path? Where did God want me to work? Where would I do my best and make the world better and serve Him with my abilities? When no voice from heaven came and the doors kept closing on job opportunities, I got discouraged and cried out to God for any kind of relief. After a many months, God told me (not audibly--I'm not entirely crazy) to move here to Dallas. And many of you would see that as God answering my prayer for direction. It was an actual, geographic direction provided by God. Boom, prayer answered. And that's absolutely true.
Except. I never told you (and I only told a few people at the time) that I was getting an another answer from Him the whole time. Every time I prayed about my future, I got this simple and ridiculous answer:
"Be a foster mom."It was whispered in my heart, it consumed my thoughts, it was in my face all the time. Every time I turned around, I was accidentally stumbling across adoption stories or foster care information or someone was telling me I needed to work with children or I was meeting people who had fostered. I had dreams of a four-year-old boy with dimples and adorably crazy hair, the same boy over and over again. It was WEIRD, is what I'm saying. I'm not one to see "signs" or patterns or put much stock in dreams, but I do believe in a God who is actively involved in our lives, with whom we can have a personal relationship. I had just never experienced it like this before--this overwhelming sensation of knowing what I should do.
And I knew it wasn't from me. I KNEW it, because every time I heard it, I would chuckle nervously and whisper, "You're kidding, right, Jesus?" It was as close as I was willing to get to consciously telling God, "No." I didn't want to be a foster mom, but I knew I NEEDED to be one. I wanted to get a job, get married, and have my own biological children and maybe someday WITH MY HUSBAND, adopt or foster. I wanted the perfect life, the American dream, the self-focused desire for my children to have my eyes and my husband's laugh. I was never opposed to adoption or fostering, it was just something I supported other people doing. I especially didn't want all of the fear of adoption--what if it doesn't go through? what if the birth mother wants them back? what if they're older and we never really bond? what if I'm not good at it because they're not "mine"?--and I didn't want all of the problems I'd heard about with fostering--what if they're troubled? what if I can't handle their issues? what do I do when I have to give them back? will I always hold a piece of my heart back because I know it's not permanent?--and yet there it remained, month after month, an ache deep in my heart for these parent-less children.
And the someone, not knowing about my internal struggle, brought up the Bible verse that says, "Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart" and taught me what the verse really means. It does not mean that God is a genie and gives you what you desire; it means he gives you the desires themselves. This was from Him and even though it was CRAZY, I could kind of see His point: I love children; I have always felt like I was created to be a mom; Even in unemployment, I was so blessed and more than many other people. So I eventually kind of accepted the premise and said, "Okay, God, FINE! I'll be a foster mom. Someday. But I have no income and I live in my sister's house. That's not really an option right now. So, thanks and all, but can I have a different answer? One that's more applicable to my immediate issues? Like a JOB?"
And then God laughed and laughed. I mean, ahem. He provided a way for me to move to Texas and start a new life here. But here's the thing: this thought? It hasn't gone away (I thought it might. I maybe even hoped it might. I thought maybe it was a phase or a far-in-the-future thing that God allowed me to get a glimpse of). It disappeared from constant view amid the moving to Texas stuff, but a few weeks into my new job here, there was a day that was like ADOPTIONPALOOZA in my life. Among other things that happened that day, I was researching something else entirely and came across a fostering site with pictures of kids waiting for homes (side note, I'm not sure how I feel about this, since it feels a little like a department store website where you can pick out the prettiest dress or something...), then a blogger I read announced they were adopting and talked about THE SAME struggles I'd had and how they worked through them, AND THEN the novel I was reading to took a radical and unforeseen turn that ended with the main character taking custody of several children. And the whispering began again, but slightly different this time:
"I gave you the job you asked for. I will soon provide a home. You're out of excuses; it's time to be a foster mom."And that's where I've been ever since. I'm nearly in tears as I write this, because I don't know what any of this means. I don't know how hard this is going to be, and I don't know how to accomplish any of it. I don't even know if I can afford a place with more than one bedroom, which would be required. I'm barely on my feet financially. I'm just starting to feel emotionally healthy after the angst of the last few years. And I have no idea how this will affect my future. Will I end up adopting, or will I just be a safe place for a child for a little while before they reunite with their family? Will I get married and have biological children, too, or is this a completely separate path? Is this actually some selfish way for me to be a mom without waiting through the hard stuff that singleness means? I don't have much of it figured out, but if God gave me this desire, He will provide a way to make it happen. And every morning, I wake up thinking about where I'm going to live and how I'm going to follow this leading, about who this kid is going to be. Because now? Now I don't just need to be a foster mom, I want it with all my heart.
5.20.2013
The Interview Chronicals: Day 600
I wish "600" was just a random, very large number used for humorous purposes to illustrate that I have been at this job search thing for a while. Like whenever Sister's friend has to tell someone her weight, she says 1512 pounds or, alternately, 17 pounds since neither can be true and people laugh and forget they asked her a terribly rude question like, "How much do you weigh?" But, alas, it is the real number (if we're counting from here, which I am, so there). So. That's...fun.
Anyway, I told the Internet I had an interview coming up and then promptly stopped talking to the Internet about jobs at all (even on my non-blog, real-name social media sites where people from home look to find out how I'm doing). So here's the story, as best as I can tell it without revealing the company or the industry and without sounding like a giant blog of "and then I did this and then I did that and then I misused the word interesting about seven times and then BORED."
Several weeks ago, I got a call for a "pre-interview phone screening" which was apparently just their fancy way of saying "We'll have an HR rep ask you all the usual interview questions, which they will type up and give to your interviewer (should you be chosen for an interview) and he will only glance at them and then ask you all the same questions over again. Just for funsies." At least, that was my experience. I answered all of the questions for a particular position and the HR lady was very nice and personable and we had a good rapport. I don't know if that matters at all, but I'd like to think it's a good thing. It can't hurt, anyway.
An hour after that call, she called me back and said, "The whole time you were answering my questions, I was thinking you'd be great for this other position. And I see that you've applied for that one as well. Can I screen you for that one, too?" Like I was going to say no. Plus, do you know how gratifying it is for someone to call you and tell you that your skills MADE them think of a place for you at their company? That was pretty nice. So I answered a lot of the same questions, which I had to remember all of my good answers from before since she was re-typing them because they were going to a completely different department. Luckily, SHE remembered some of the good things I said and actually prompted me a few times. I sent her a Thank You Card, because she is awesome. Hands down, best person I've met through this whole job hunting experience.
Anyway, about a week later, she called me and set up an in-person interview for the second position (I've never heard another word about the first one). Apparently, the Executive Director's schedule was pretty tight, so she offered me two dates, both three weeks out. Which is unusual in my experience, but it's not like I'm going to turn it down. Unfortunately, this lead to three weeks of me talking myself in and out of being qualified for the position. My interview nerves are pretty bad in the best of circumstances, so I'm amazed my head didn't explode at some point in those weeks.
After a lot of mental rehearsing and wardrobe choosing, Thursday arrived. I put on my big girl panties, figured out how to navigate the unfamiliar interstate highways (Far Northerner, remember?), and went to the interview. And it went seemingly well. I mean, it's ME, so there were still a lot of awkward moments and talking with my hands (read: one step short of flailing). Since my barometer of what makes an interview good is obviously not properly calibrated (I've thought some went REALLY well and others terribly and they all resulted in me not getting the job), I couldn't really answer everyone's question of "How'd it go?" But I also didn't spend days agonizing over every little flub and wishing I'd said more or less on particular subjects. So I felt like that was pretty positive.
And the director seemed nice enough. He was a little intense at turns--he kept a cot in his office--but also kind of blase about things--he made light jokes about the weaknesses of the organization. But all in all, he seemed decent and I could see myself working for him. And let's face it, as much as I don't want to get into another terrible boss situation, I also REALLY NEED A JOB. Anyway, I felt like it went as well as it possibly could have. He said he had another interview the next week, but that he'd make a decision by the end of that week.
I got a call on Wednesday from the HR department. As soon as the woman identified herself, I braced for rejection. It was too early in the week. Plus, my default expectation is disappointment (like that's news to anyone). And just as I suspected, she did not offer me the job.
No, instead, she informed me that the man I had met with six days ago was "no longer with the organization" and asked if I would be willing to come in and re-interview with another executive. So. That's weird, right? Seriously, I have been puzzling over this for days. I met with him in the afternoon on Thursday and I got the call in the morning the following Wednesday. What could have happened in three business days? He was the executive director of a large organization. They don't usually up and quit. If he'd been planning it, he wouldn't have scheduled the interview. If they were trying to fire him before that, they wouldn't have let him take the interview. So my guess is he went out in some kind of hailstorm. Either he walked out or they fired him. Or he died. Otherwise, I have no idea how this happens. And don't think I haven't been googling (it's a prominent enough company that it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for them to put out a press release in this kind of situation).
Anyway, long story short, I'm headed back in to interview tomorrow. Obviously, we're dealing with some odd circumstances here, but it's a little crazy to me how long this process has taken. I got the very first call the schedule the pre-interview screening on April 9th. My original interview was on May 9th. At the rate we're going, I may not find out whether or not I've got the job until June 9th. Is this how things usually go? Because my 600 days tell me something a little bit different.
Not that I'm necessarily complaining (I'm totally complaining), since any progress is still progress and I'm grateful to have ANY kind of opportunity to tell someone they should hire me. It's just that it feels a lot like expecting to get stood up for the school dance but your date actually shows up and is dressed nicely and even brings a corsage and you're OVERJOYED until you get to the dance and everyone looks at you in a way that makes you feel like you aren't supposed to be there but THEN you find out you got crowned QUEEN and as you're making your tearful speech about how they really actually like you after all there's a whole giant bucket's worth of PIG'S BLOOD falling on your head. And I'm just saying that if it takes two entire months to get to the pig's blood, I'd have rather stayed home alone with a good book.
Anyway, I told the Internet I had an interview coming up and then promptly stopped talking to the Internet about jobs at all (even on my non-blog, real-name social media sites where people from home look to find out how I'm doing). So here's the story, as best as I can tell it without revealing the company or the industry and without sounding like a giant blog of "and then I did this and then I did that and then I misused the word interesting about seven times and then BORED."
Several weeks ago, I got a call for a "pre-interview phone screening" which was apparently just their fancy way of saying "We'll have an HR rep ask you all the usual interview questions, which they will type up and give to your interviewer (should you be chosen for an interview) and he will only glance at them and then ask you all the same questions over again. Just for funsies." At least, that was my experience. I answered all of the questions for a particular position and the HR lady was very nice and personable and we had a good rapport. I don't know if that matters at all, but I'd like to think it's a good thing. It can't hurt, anyway.
An hour after that call, she called me back and said, "The whole time you were answering my questions, I was thinking you'd be great for this other position. And I see that you've applied for that one as well. Can I screen you for that one, too?" Like I was going to say no. Plus, do you know how gratifying it is for someone to call you and tell you that your skills MADE them think of a place for you at their company? That was pretty nice. So I answered a lot of the same questions, which I had to remember all of my good answers from before since she was re-typing them because they were going to a completely different department. Luckily, SHE remembered some of the good things I said and actually prompted me a few times. I sent her a Thank You Card, because she is awesome. Hands down, best person I've met through this whole job hunting experience.
Anyway, about a week later, she called me and set up an in-person interview for the second position (I've never heard another word about the first one). Apparently, the Executive Director's schedule was pretty tight, so she offered me two dates, both three weeks out. Which is unusual in my experience, but it's not like I'm going to turn it down. Unfortunately, this lead to three weeks of me talking myself in and out of being qualified for the position. My interview nerves are pretty bad in the best of circumstances, so I'm amazed my head didn't explode at some point in those weeks.
After a lot of mental rehearsing and wardrobe choosing, Thursday arrived. I put on my big girl panties, figured out how to navigate the unfamiliar interstate highways (Far Northerner, remember?), and went to the interview. And it went seemingly well. I mean, it's ME, so there were still a lot of awkward moments and talking with my hands (read: one step short of flailing). Since my barometer of what makes an interview good is obviously not properly calibrated (I've thought some went REALLY well and others terribly and they all resulted in me not getting the job), I couldn't really answer everyone's question of "How'd it go?" But I also didn't spend days agonizing over every little flub and wishing I'd said more or less on particular subjects. So I felt like that was pretty positive.
And the director seemed nice enough. He was a little intense at turns--he kept a cot in his office--but also kind of blase about things--he made light jokes about the weaknesses of the organization. But all in all, he seemed decent and I could see myself working for him. And let's face it, as much as I don't want to get into another terrible boss situation, I also REALLY NEED A JOB. Anyway, I felt like it went as well as it possibly could have. He said he had another interview the next week, but that he'd make a decision by the end of that week.
I got a call on Wednesday from the HR department. As soon as the woman identified herself, I braced for rejection. It was too early in the week. Plus, my default expectation is disappointment (like that's news to anyone). And just as I suspected, she did not offer me the job.
No, instead, she informed me that the man I had met with six days ago was "no longer with the organization" and asked if I would be willing to come in and re-interview with another executive. So. That's weird, right? Seriously, I have been puzzling over this for days. I met with him in the afternoon on Thursday and I got the call in the morning the following Wednesday. What could have happened in three business days? He was the executive director of a large organization. They don't usually up and quit. If he'd been planning it, he wouldn't have scheduled the interview. If they were trying to fire him before that, they wouldn't have let him take the interview. So my guess is he went out in some kind of hailstorm. Either he walked out or they fired him. Or he died. Otherwise, I have no idea how this happens. And don't think I haven't been googling (it's a prominent enough company that it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for them to put out a press release in this kind of situation).
Anyway, long story short, I'm headed back in to interview tomorrow. Obviously, we're dealing with some odd circumstances here, but it's a little crazy to me how long this process has taken. I got the very first call the schedule the pre-interview screening on April 9th. My original interview was on May 9th. At the rate we're going, I may not find out whether or not I've got the job until June 9th. Is this how things usually go? Because my 600 days tell me something a little bit different.
Not that I'm necessarily complaining (I'm totally complaining), since any progress is still progress and I'm grateful to have ANY kind of opportunity to tell someone they should hire me. It's just that it feels a lot like expecting to get stood up for the school dance but your date actually shows up and is dressed nicely and even brings a corsage and you're OVERJOYED until you get to the dance and everyone looks at you in a way that makes you feel like you aren't supposed to be there but THEN you find out you got crowned QUEEN and as you're making your tearful speech about how they really actually like you after all there's a whole giant bucket's worth of PIG'S BLOOD falling on your head. And I'm just saying that if it takes two entire months to get to the pig's blood, I'd have rather stayed home alone with a good book.
4.02.2013
Texas: Two Week Update
I've been here for two weeks. TWO weeks. Is it really only two weeks? At the same time, have two WHOLE weeks gone by? You can see that I'm conflicted. Everything is happening very fast and yet also feels like a nice, easy routine of playing with the baby and job hunting during naps and hanging out with the Welches and just plain enjoying myself. I don't know how else to do this update but in a bulleted list. Someone more creative might be able to find a way, but I am still getting my bearings. Yes, let's blame it on that.
Texas: What I've Been Doing and My Thoughts About It (Which You Can Skip and Just Read the Last Paragraph [Entitled "To Recap:" In Bold] If You're Short on Time or Patience or Are Being Set Upon by Wild Beasts and/or Babies):
To recap: I'm doing really well and I'm excited for the opportunities Texas offers. Hopefully, I'll get back to blogging more regularly now that I have a) access to good internet and b) things actually going on in my life again. But we've all heard that before, so we'll see. What are YOU up to? (and do you happen to know of any jobs available in the DFW area? Just kidding. Kind of.)
Texas: What I've Been Doing and My Thoughts About It (Which You Can Skip and Just Read the Last Paragraph [Entitled "To Recap:" In Bold] If You're Short on Time or Patience or Are Being Set Upon by Wild Beasts and/or Babies):
- I've gone to three different churches--three different denominations, two of which I've never experienced before--so I'm getting exposed to all sorts of different flavors of Jesus, which is pretty cool, actually.
- I get to play with a baby EVERY SINGLE DAY how cool is that? Those of you who are moms are probably like, so? but it's awesome for me. She's learning so much right now and it's amazing to watch.
- I've applied for a gazillion jobs already. Okay, probably a couple dozen. Some childcare related and some in my industry. There's been a little bit of bureaucratic non-sense and run-around on a few of them, but mostly it's been a relatively easy process. If you don't count my whole emotional response to YET AGAIN begging people to like me enough to hire me and contorting myself into what I think they might want while still remaining honest about my skills and abilities--that part's not so painless.
- I've visited Linnea's parent's house twice now and they are fantastic people who don't seem to think it's one bit odd that I'm from the Internet. In fact, they've been incredibly kind and generous and offered their home to me if I should need a place on the Fort Worth side of the metroplex. It's like meeting extended family I never knew I had, which is to say: awesome.
- I've also visited Linnea's in-law's house and she has a brand spanking new nephew who is incredibly wee and adorable and I just want to watch him sleep that special newborn coma sleep.
- I'm enjoying the heck out of the warmth and humidity. Rereading that makes me chuckle, because I spent a summer in Washington DC and I could have cursed humidity into a thousand fiery deaths, but that was also 95%. Here, it's been much less than that, but still much more than this so-dry-your-skin-cracks-and-bleeds Far North. My skin is loving this. My hair... Well, it'll adjust. I hope.
- Along with the warm, I'm relishing the lack of snow. The Texans are probably looking at me really funny right now, but I'm just so JOYFUL to see leaves on trees and dry ground. It's not like I expected snow here. I just find its absence comforting.
- I'm learning that "waterbugs" is just a nice way of saying "cockroaches and beetles." I am not a fan, no matter what you call them. This is the only downside I've found so far.
- I drove. By myself! And I didn't get lost. I feel like I may be making this a bigger accomplishment than it really is.
- Well, other than missing my family. Although, I'm doing incredibly well, all things considered. The first Sunday was hard, because we are such churchy people and I am guaranteed to see the whole family on Sundays, if not other days of the week. The realization that I would not, in fact, be seeing them that Sunday or any in the near future was a little rough, but I powered through. This is not like college where I knew no one at first and spent a lot of time alone. I live with a family, who treat me like part of their family, so it's much less lonely.
- I got to go to Internet Book Club (I have no idea if it has a real name, so that's what I call it in my head), where I got to meet very nice women, some of whom I knew already from twitter and some new faces.We ate taco salad and tried to remember to talk about the book, but actually spent a lot of time just talking about life and I enjoyed myself a lot.
- I also have been warmly welcomed into Linnea's Bible study group, which has been a blessing in so many ways. It's nice to have built-in friends and it's really cool to know that I can be completely honest and open with them, since we're all just trying to be more like Jesus and we all want to help each other grow.
- Unlimited Internet! No download limits! All the shows I could never watch before! Blogging with out (technical) frustration! Candy Crush! I am never going to get a job!
To recap: I'm doing really well and I'm excited for the opportunities Texas offers. Hopefully, I'll get back to blogging more regularly now that I have a) access to good internet and b) things actually going on in my life again. But we've all heard that before, so we'll see. What are YOU up to? (and do you happen to know of any jobs available in the DFW area? Just kidding. Kind of.)
3.14.2013
Texas, You Had Better Have Tissues
So, um... I'm moving to Texas.
Many of you who know me on twitter or were at PJs at TJ's this year probably already know that. But, in case you missed it, as many people in my personal life have, I'm MOVING to TEXAS.
Fair warning, this post is likely to be both CAPSLOCKY and incoherently babblish. Just FYI. Becaaaaauuuse: I'm moving to Texas in FOUR DAYS. And I have not packed a THING.
Here's the deal. Waaaay back in July (so like four posts ago on this here blog of abject neglect), I visited Linnea and her family in the DFW area. I got to meet her super cute, super schmooshy baby (who has grown into a super cute, slightly less schmooshy TODDLER, but that's a different story altogether) and her great husband and her sweet pets and her lovely friends. Through the planning phase of that trip, we joked about me meeting a cowboy/oil barron and getting married and just staying in Texas. And then when I got there, we joked about me finding a job there and living in Linnea's spare bedroom. And then about half-way through the trip, we kind of sort of somewhat a lot stopped joking. By the time I got on a plane to come home, I had half-way convinced myself that it was POSSIBLE to perhaps, SOMEDAY maybe try to sort of spend some more time in the general DFW area. Because I am a decisive person with a firm five-year plan for the future. Ahem.
Anyway, I got home and, as I had suspected, I remembered all of the reasons I love Far North and that I was actually very comfortable here, despite all of the REALLY GOOD reasons I had come up with while IN Texas for why Far North wasn't doing it for me anymore. Except. Those REALLY GOOD reasons wouldn't go away. Reasons like: I had not worked in a year; I'm overweight and struggling to lose weight in the cold and the dark and the land of expensive produce; I'm single and there are very few single, eligible men in this town; I'm afraid to drive in the snow.
So I started praying about it. And I started googling about DFW and jobs and housing. And then, in a fateful staff meeting in August about our church's growth and seating capacity, one of the pastors said, "I don't want to build a new building or move. I want to stay right here and keep preaching and just ignore the problem. But that's a terrible way to preach the Gospel and that's not what God is asking us to do." And all I could hear in my head was "I don't want to move to Texas and start over. I want to stay right here and keep failing to meet my goals and just ignore the problem. But that's a terrible way to live and that's not what God is asking me to do."
For those of you of the faith-y persuasion, this might be a familiar thing. But I know that this has to sound CRAZY to those of you who don't do church or faith. And, to tell you the truth, it's a little bit crazy to me, too. But it also feels so incredibly right. I didn't hear an audible voice from the heavens--that would either make me insane or...Moses and I'm pretty sure I'm neither. But I did know, deep in my gut, that it was the best plan and I could feel this tug on my soul to move and grow and change and see what this opportunity had to offer.
Now, as I am wont to do, I procrastinated and hemmed and hawed and just generally ignored that moment of revelation. Well, ignored it as much as I could while it was nagging in the back of my head and the few people I'd mentioned it to kept nudging me and asking about it and basically shooing me in a southerly direction. I went on more interviews here and failed to get each and every single job, even ones that seemed like sure things (THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS A SURE THING). And I applied for jobs there, saying I wouldn't go without a plan and having a job there was part of the plan, no "plan" materialized. And then a house-sitting job came up and then the holidays came and then there was PJs at TJ's and and and AND AND I was a big chicken.
All of this to say that I am FINALLY taking the leap. I have a room and a car waiting for me and a hope of some part-time nannying until I can secure permanent employment. I have no idea where this will lead and I had a whole post planned about all the BENEFITS! and LOGIC! and WISDOM! of moving to Texas, but.
Instead, in the middle of writing this, I was called into our church auditorium (I'm writing this form the church office, since I've been temping here all week) and they made a "blessing circle" around me. Which sounds so much more churchy and mystical than it really is. I don't even know if anyone else does this, but my Worship Pastor (who also happens to be my best friend, which makes this all the more difficult) has developed this tradition of sending people off in TEARS. I mean... Wait.
You see, whenever one of us is going away (either moving or being sent out on the mission field or away to long-term training or anything longer than a few months), he gathers the whole worship team and forces the Leaving to sit in the center with everyone staring at them while each person takes a turn telling the Leaver how much they've been personally blessed by them and how much they'll miss them and how grateful they are for the Leaver's service to the church and basically GUILTS them into staying because how can you leave when everyone loves you this much?! And then, after you've done the ugly cry in front of everyone you know and you've had to figure up the appropriate facial expression to wear when someone compliments your humble spirit (there is no humble way to take that compliment and still, you know, TAKE it) and you've resisted the urge to look behind you twelve million times because a) they MUST be talking about someone else because while you are awesome, you do not feel THIS awesome and b) there are PEOPLE behind you waiting to say nice things to you and probably noticing that the shirt you chose that morning isn't really long enough to cover your lower back while you're sitting in a discount rolling office chair... After all of THIS, everyone stands up and puts a hand on you and prays blessings over you and your ministry and calling and new life.
And it is an amazing experience. It's humbling and beautiful and scary and powerful and awkward and abut eighteen other adjectives. And I was crying and trying not to be to noisy about it and trying to remember every last word spoke and also trying to perfect my spontaneous teleportation powers so I disappear on the spot because, man, I do not deserve half of the kindness that was given to me tonight. I kept thinking that there is so much imperfect about me and my walk with Jesus and if these people, these people who've known me most of my life and who know me so well, could ACTUALLY see my heart, they might run way screaming from the mess that I am inside.
But I think that's the point. We are, none of us, perfect. But it was amazing for just a few minutes, to see myself as others saw me. Not to build myself up and pat myself on the back for being able to cover my mess so well, but to see the way I HAVE grown and the ways I AM serving the Lord and loving people. It was kind of eye-opening in its ordinariness.
Whoa. Okay, before I sink too far into a nostalgic burst of self-inflated psychoanalysis, I should stop and get some sleep. There is a whole house to clean in preparation of my good-bye party (which I'm kind of throwing for myself, which is probably incredibly terrible etiquette, but Sister says its her house and she called to invite everyone, so SHE'S throwing the party, which, okay.) and I'm meeting a friend for lunch and I broke the church's copier today (how's that for being a humble servant, huh? I'm going out with a bang, I guess), so I'm going in to meet the copier guy in the morning even though the church is technically closed. Oh, and I have library books to return and a million other things to do and OH HEY PACKING, so I need some sleep.
But a post about moving to Texas would not be complete without at least a small note to say that this is ALL THE INTERNET'S FAULT. That's right--I'm moving to texas because of YOU! I never would have met Linnea or EVER thought about moving to TEXAS OF ALL PLACES if it weren't for the Internet. And more specifically, if it weren't for TJ putting a link to this blog on hers and if it weren't for Linnea clicking that link and finding me and if it weren't for TJ throwing a slumber party with an open invitation that made me feel welcome and brave enough to meet the Internet in person. And I think all of that is just a little bit nuts, but it's also just about the coolest thing I've ever heard.
Many of you who know me on twitter or were at PJs at TJ's this year probably already know that. But, in case you missed it, as many people in my personal life have, I'm MOVING to TEXAS.
Fair warning, this post is likely to be both CAPSLOCKY and incoherently babblish. Just FYI. Becaaaaauuuse: I'm moving to Texas in FOUR DAYS. And I have not packed a THING.
Here's the deal. Waaaay back in July (so like four posts ago on this here blog of abject neglect), I visited Linnea and her family in the DFW area. I got to meet her super cute, super schmooshy baby (who has grown into a super cute, slightly less schmooshy TODDLER, but that's a different story altogether) and her great husband and her sweet pets and her lovely friends. Through the planning phase of that trip, we joked about me meeting a cowboy/oil barron and getting married and just staying in Texas. And then when I got there, we joked about me finding a job there and living in Linnea's spare bedroom. And then about half-way through the trip, we kind of sort of somewhat a lot stopped joking. By the time I got on a plane to come home, I had half-way convinced myself that it was POSSIBLE to perhaps, SOMEDAY maybe try to sort of spend some more time in the general DFW area. Because I am a decisive person with a firm five-year plan for the future. Ahem.
Anyway, I got home and, as I had suspected, I remembered all of the reasons I love Far North and that I was actually very comfortable here, despite all of the REALLY GOOD reasons I had come up with while IN Texas for why Far North wasn't doing it for me anymore. Except. Those REALLY GOOD reasons wouldn't go away. Reasons like: I had not worked in a year; I'm overweight and struggling to lose weight in the cold and the dark and the land of expensive produce; I'm single and there are very few single, eligible men in this town; I'm afraid to drive in the snow.
So I started praying about it. And I started googling about DFW and jobs and housing. And then, in a fateful staff meeting in August about our church's growth and seating capacity, one of the pastors said, "I don't want to build a new building or move. I want to stay right here and keep preaching and just ignore the problem. But that's a terrible way to preach the Gospel and that's not what God is asking us to do." And all I could hear in my head was "I don't want to move to Texas and start over. I want to stay right here and keep failing to meet my goals and just ignore the problem. But that's a terrible way to live and that's not what God is asking me to do."
For those of you of the faith-y persuasion, this might be a familiar thing. But I know that this has to sound CRAZY to those of you who don't do church or faith. And, to tell you the truth, it's a little bit crazy to me, too. But it also feels so incredibly right. I didn't hear an audible voice from the heavens--that would either make me insane or...Moses and I'm pretty sure I'm neither. But I did know, deep in my gut, that it was the best plan and I could feel this tug on my soul to move and grow and change and see what this opportunity had to offer.
Now, as I am wont to do, I procrastinated and hemmed and hawed and just generally ignored that moment of revelation. Well, ignored it as much as I could while it was nagging in the back of my head and the few people I'd mentioned it to kept nudging me and asking about it and basically shooing me in a southerly direction. I went on more interviews here and failed to get each and every single job, even ones that seemed like sure things (THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS A SURE THING). And I applied for jobs there, saying I wouldn't go without a plan and having a job there was part of the plan, no "plan" materialized. And then a house-sitting job came up and then the holidays came and then there was PJs at TJ's and and and AND AND I was a big chicken.
All of this to say that I am FINALLY taking the leap. I have a room and a car waiting for me and a hope of some part-time nannying until I can secure permanent employment. I have no idea where this will lead and I had a whole post planned about all the BENEFITS! and LOGIC! and WISDOM! of moving to Texas, but.
Instead, in the middle of writing this, I was called into our church auditorium (I'm writing this form the church office, since I've been temping here all week) and they made a "blessing circle" around me. Which sounds so much more churchy and mystical than it really is. I don't even know if anyone else does this, but my Worship Pastor (who also happens to be my best friend, which makes this all the more difficult) has developed this tradition of sending people off in TEARS. I mean... Wait.
You see, whenever one of us is going away (either moving or being sent out on the mission field or away to long-term training or anything longer than a few months), he gathers the whole worship team and forces the Leaving to sit in the center with everyone staring at them while each person takes a turn telling the Leaver how much they've been personally blessed by them and how much they'll miss them and how grateful they are for the Leaver's service to the church and basically GUILTS them into staying because how can you leave when everyone loves you this much?! And then, after you've done the ugly cry in front of everyone you know and you've had to figure up the appropriate facial expression to wear when someone compliments your humble spirit (there is no humble way to take that compliment and still, you know, TAKE it) and you've resisted the urge to look behind you twelve million times because a) they MUST be talking about someone else because while you are awesome, you do not feel THIS awesome and b) there are PEOPLE behind you waiting to say nice things to you and probably noticing that the shirt you chose that morning isn't really long enough to cover your lower back while you're sitting in a discount rolling office chair... After all of THIS, everyone stands up and puts a hand on you and prays blessings over you and your ministry and calling and new life.
And it is an amazing experience. It's humbling and beautiful and scary and powerful and awkward and abut eighteen other adjectives. And I was crying and trying not to be to noisy about it and trying to remember every last word spoke and also trying to perfect my spontaneous teleportation powers so I disappear on the spot because, man, I do not deserve half of the kindness that was given to me tonight. I kept thinking that there is so much imperfect about me and my walk with Jesus and if these people, these people who've known me most of my life and who know me so well, could ACTUALLY see my heart, they might run way screaming from the mess that I am inside.
But I think that's the point. We are, none of us, perfect. But it was amazing for just a few minutes, to see myself as others saw me. Not to build myself up and pat myself on the back for being able to cover my mess so well, but to see the way I HAVE grown and the ways I AM serving the Lord and loving people. It was kind of eye-opening in its ordinariness.
Whoa. Okay, before I sink too far into a nostalgic burst of self-inflated psychoanalysis, I should stop and get some sleep. There is a whole house to clean in preparation of my good-bye party (which I'm kind of throwing for myself, which is probably incredibly terrible etiquette, but Sister says its her house and she called to invite everyone, so SHE'S throwing the party, which, okay.) and I'm meeting a friend for lunch and I broke the church's copier today (how's that for being a humble servant, huh? I'm going out with a bang, I guess), so I'm going in to meet the copier guy in the morning even though the church is technically closed. Oh, and I have library books to return and a million other things to do and OH HEY PACKING, so I need some sleep.
But a post about moving to Texas would not be complete without at least a small note to say that this is ALL THE INTERNET'S FAULT. That's right--I'm moving to texas because of YOU! I never would have met Linnea or EVER thought about moving to TEXAS OF ALL PLACES if it weren't for the Internet. And more specifically, if it weren't for TJ putting a link to this blog on hers and if it weren't for Linnea clicking that link and finding me and if it weren't for TJ throwing a slumber party with an open invitation that made me feel welcome and brave enough to meet the Internet in person. And I think all of that is just a little bit nuts, but it's also just about the coolest thing I've ever heard.
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