Though I seek to be present in the moment and live each day
as my daily bread, I’m almost always scheduling something and looking forward
to the next thing. My pocket planner is nearby whenever I’m not out running or
in the shower. It’s written half in pencil and half in pen: to make sure that
it is an accurate reflection of my actions and others, that I know what to
expect for each week and each day without hoping for too much, and that I’ll
remember both the trivial and important to-dos and happenings if I choose to
review it in the years to come. Managing the planner over time has been a
challenging process: knowing when I can be confident enough to put something in
pen, seeking to gracefully accept the occasions when I need to use whiteout, and
admitting when I wish I could start all over with a new, blank month.
In my middle-class, Protestant, two parents-two kids,
perfect attendance award and spelling bee winner experience, life has been
pretty structured from birth until college graduation. I have outwardly thrived
and discreetly flailed through the typical milestones. I have continued to be
so undeservedly blessed.
Life since May 4, 2013 has been of a fuzzier framework: one
that I’ve struggled to adapt to. There’s no more “safe,” non-negotiable set of
expectations. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed about planning and envisioning the
next steps. Over the last two and a half years, I have been gifted with the
challenge of “adult-ing,” running a race longer than seemed feasible, learning
who I could share things with and who I should let go of, and continually
striving to figure out the beautiful conundrum of how to spend the hours in
each day.
In May, I dared to speak aloud a plan for the first time in
years. In June, it became abundantly clear that things would not be as I had
envisioned. I enjoyed some sweet space as I reconsidered the timing and
placement of my next footing. I consulted trusted family, friends, mentors and
acquaintances, took a lot of barre classes, researched, and made ambitious
lists while I didn’t have a desk to sit at from 8 am to 5 pm(ish) each day.
The exceedingly difficult times—the aches, loneliness,
struggles, the breakup, confusion, suffering—and all of the joy and unmerited
gifts—the flowers, the friendships, the epic meals, the right words at exactly
the right time—gave me the strength to lean on Jesus as I contemplated a season
in-between. A season between full-time roles and a choice between staying or
going, friends I’d had for years or others who were just as dear, and the city
I had nearly come to consider home or the city that I feel most alive in.
In July, I had that conversation with a boy I never planned
to fall for and we joined hands to share the pursuit of God and each other. I
got to spend time with my increasingly forgetful and confused grandfather, to
share my sweet Anna Maria Island with my best friend Grace for the first time,
to have the two surgeries, to read “The Defining Decade,” to plan wedding
details with lovely Shannon, and to find the words to tell Matt that I loved
him far more quickly than I ever thought possible.
I wrestled through industries and organizations and
positions. I agonized over the ideal cover letter and edited my resume eight
times after I was sure that it was finally perfect. I trusted then doubted then
trusted. I became weary of the three part-time roles and free time then exhausted
by the prospect of returning to around fifty hours a week primarily at a desk. I
met with placement agencies and sent emails and asked for opinions and
referrals. I got negatively overwhelmed by the advice and positively
overwhelmed by the support from all directions. God knew what my overly
extroverted, optimistic realist, trusting but impatient self needed.
In early August, I did my first Skype interview, then a
second interview on an hour and forty five minutes notice when I felt awful,
then a project that I completely overanalyzed and presented to the CEO and
other leaders of the organization that several had recommended I join. God gave
me the words to say and the courage to be unabashedly myself. I got and
accepted the job offer at 5:08 pm after a day floating down the Saluda River
with sweet Abbie. The next day I turned 24 and celebrated with a casual evening
at home, and that Wednesday I started a job in a new industry in a large
organization doing something I’d never done.
It’s been two months, and the new role has been exhausting, but it is certainly the worthwhile challenge that I hoped for. I’m so honored to tell people where I work, and I’m now envisioning life with that boy. Greenville is still home for now. My planner has been partially covered in whiteout, has pages held in place only by extra staples, and it’s perfectly imperfect: full of sweet challenges and blessings to come. God’s plan is best, and with every new item inked into the planner, He affirms that glorious truth.
It’s been two months, and the new role has been exhausting, but it is certainly the worthwhile challenge that I hoped for. I’m so honored to tell people where I work, and I’m now envisioning life with that boy. Greenville is still home for now. My planner has been partially covered in whiteout, has pages held in place only by extra staples, and it’s perfectly imperfect: full of sweet challenges and blessings to come. God’s plan is best, and with every new item inked into the planner, He affirms that glorious truth.
