I recently started noticing messages in my inbox regarding my upcoming high school reunion. This made me feel awkward in three ways: 1) I didn’t technically “graduate” from this high school and I think 99% of the people I considered my friends at the time didn’t know what actually happened to me, 2) I hated high school, and 3) it freaks me out in a small way (similar to perhaps an adorable baby mushroom cloud) that it has been ten years since I was 18. Ten. Years. That’s a whole decade worth of drama, growing pains, and good things. Wow.
As haphazard as my decision-making skills are and as wild as a rollercoaster my emotional and spiritual development has been, I must unfortunately state in a contradictory manner that I was always an equal balance of safe and reckless. I feel cocky to call myself a big fish in a small pond, but I really did act as if I knew everything about this feeble body of water in my massive tuna of a body.
In practical terms, I came out of high school thinking I knew it all. I considered myself to be a professional wiper of life’s shit, and as long as I had these “street smarts,” it didn’t matter that in every other term, I didn’t have anything figured out. Dreams to be accomplished, jobs to be pursued, careers to be made… I had no clue what I was destined to do. I know a lot of people don’t have it figured out, and I know that it’s one of life’s fun mysteries to discover what your purpose in life is and how you can make a niche in this crazy world today, but as much as I enjoyed struggling through this identity crisis, I stayed in it even after I knew what I wanted to do.
I knew I wanted to write. I talked about it all the time. I talked about blogging, moving to New York to pursue a Sex and the City-esque life resembling Carrie’s, working my way up in a publishing house, and even going to school to get my master’s in writing. I blah-blah-blah’ed my dreams into one giant puff of a cloud that simply followed me around and didn’t take any shape. I became complacent with working in professions that I knew that I was good at, but didn’t particularly get excited over. My heart bled for the written word, yet why was it so hard for me to snap out of my passive comfort to pursue what I knew was woven into the DNA of my being?
As I erratically jumped from job to job, I realized that there were times I did this because I was afraid. I was afraid of becoming a big tuna in an even bigger ocean, where rejection and criticism were much more common, and I wouldn’t be surrounded by the safety of what I was already confident with. The predictability of my life choices began boring me to tears, and I knew that I needed to face my fears and start applying to jobs where I can start writing and hone in on this passion of mine that loomed over me for the past ten years.
I didn’t get callbacks and started getting discouraged. I even accepted a job offer for this job that was completely out of left field and wasn’t at ALL what I was expecting or looking for, but it seemed like it would be a great asset to my professional development. But to keep a long story short, I heard back about a writing position literally the weekend before I was supposed to start. God is so funny, and He loves to surprise me with His faithfulness.
It’s finally happening. Not only am I going to write full-time, but I’m going to be moving to a new city too. I feel like this is going to be the beginning of conquering fears and fulfilling dreams.
My oceans will continue to grow, so may I become bolder to swim.