My fellow millenials would call it self-discovery or self-identification. A time to find out just who I am. A pause in life to familiarize myself with the slightly changed me.
I call it crap.
Mostly because I find most millenial philosophies to be total hogwash.
Partly because I know, mentally, that my identity is Christ, not self. Not “what I’m doing right now”.
But also because I’m in a bad mood.
Everyone wearily picking up their gear to participate in the job hunt every day knows exactly the kind of mood I’m in.
People seem to think I’m exaggerating when I say this, but the area Mister and I live in now is thirty years behind the times. I’m tellin’ ya.
My experience, my gifts, my college education equipped me for jobs in writing, editing, proofing, and most of it in the technical realm. I love it. And I get daily emails of job positions for technical writers in Pittsburgh.
The catch: I’m not in Pittsburgh anymore, Toto.
And there are moments where my throat catches and I give in to an exhausted sob. It lasts for five minutes and then I mentally smack myself across the head and tell myself to get a grip, that God is in control.
But I gave up a perfect, perfect job due to this move. I can’t lie and say that I don’t miss it. But it wasn’t going to work out, they didn’t want to discuss the possibility of me working remotely, and it was time to leave. Valid reasons, all of them.
And so now, here I am, plopped in the middle of this rusty, industrial, backwards region, and the only job options are union work or R.N./L.P.N.
No one wants some yuppie from the city looking to edit their manuals or write their documents.
And it’s silly, right? It’s silly because the only reason I can’t find a job right now is because it’s not God’s time yet. So it’s silly to be in a sour mood about it. Silly.
But I am. And it’s not because I don’t have faith in God’s timing. It’s not because I don’t know that God is in control.
It’s because I’m finding out where I find my worth.
At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening.
All the other 20-somethings I know have occupations. They have things to do. They have places to go between 7 and 3 or 8 and 4 or 9 and 5. People don’t glare at them and assume they must be on welfare to be grocery shopping or exercising at 11 a.m. or 1 p.m.
Because where you are at 11 a.m. or 1 p.m., and whether your car is gone from your driveway between 7 and 5, that’s what determines your worth in the world.
And it’s hard, you know, not letting my emotions swallow up all of God’s promises. It’s hard not feeling completely worthless.
I know we are supposed to be here, in this pokey town, because Mister got a promotion. He got a promotion and will most likely get a raise. I know this is where God is fanning my husband’s light.
But what am I supposed to do? What is my calling? It can’t seriously be me sitting at home waiting for a job, can it?
Augh, Lord, how long?!