All I knew was that I didn't want to be a teacher, didn't want a cloistered life of wealth, wanted to escape, to be good enough, and run away. None of my decisions ever had any life vision, and, I now realize, I never really chose anything.
In first grade, we had an assignment: Write a list of 3 things you want from Santa. First, I never really believed in Santa. The thought of a strange, overweight, elderly man (all REDICULOUS phobias of mine as a child) creeping into your house in the middle of the night never really set well with me. Second, the weird mix of boundaries and absence of boundaries in my home had me strangely panicked about the state of our family's finances. Third, I, even by 6 years old, had learned that it hurt to want things. It hurt to have dreams and desires. I not only refused to do the assignment, but, I quite literally had a small nervous break down about the whole thing. It may be a silly story, but it is frightening to me to look back and look forward at how intense and ingrained I have become in my practice for not desiring anything.
Here I am, pursuing a life change toward a career I know very little about. I don't think I am made out for teaching. I think I want to love people through caring for them medically. I don't know, and I don't know how to know.
I love where I work, I love the friends, relationships, and enormous growth of faith I have had being there. I cannot believe that I would choose to leave such a wonderful community. I cannot have both, and I cannot live discontentedly. I want space to breathe, to read to my daughter and giggle with her, to go to bed with my husband without crying from exhaustion. I don't know how to make the right choices that will lead me there, and I don't know what God is asking of me in the whole thing. I guess I could use some prayer.
I guess that we are all trying to figure out what contentment looks like. My dream life would a clean house, the picture perfect coffee-in-the-morning with the table clean and Anthropologie bowls on the table (Kelly, Cathy, and probably Becca :)), a made bed, and a day of laundry, Target, and yardwork. But, here I am with mail littered all over, uncountable bacterial colonies growing on the end of the table because of Ella's high chair, a coffee pot that I can't use because I will never have time to clean it, stepping on squished peas, finding who-knows-how-old sippy cups in strange places (like the washing machine), and hopefully wearing something that doesn't smell too bad or have weird crusty smears. One one hand, I love it. On the other, I feel insane. I am embarrassed to have guests, and like being at other people's houses better than my own.
How do I create routines? Rituals? Quiet moments of beauty and breath? I think that is the key. I do know that finding this at the end of my day is awfully beautiful, and it does make me catch my breath for a moment and sigh.
