Last year, in the spring and summer, I remember writing such optimistic posts. I was finally settling down in one city. I was finally looking for a full-time job. I finally got a full-time job. I finally got a dog. I was finally becoming a real adult. Things were really great. And, to be honest, things are still pretty great.
Except I’m not where I want to be in my life. I’m not doing what I want to be doing. I’m not working the career I really want. I’m not writing as much as I’d like to be. I’m not exercising. I’m not sleeping. I’m just not there yet. I’m still waiting for real life to be what I expected it to be.
Waiting, crippled by the fear of chasing after something uncertain. The fear of taking huge risks. Essentially, the fear of failure.
I remember when I was little, when asked what my biggest fear was, I would always respond with “failure.” Back then, “failure” meant not making a lot of money. “Failure” meant being poor.
But what I’m starting to learn, as I navigate my way through my twenties trying to find my niche, is that you can make a lot of money and still feel poor. (And no, I’m most certainly not talking about wealth management here. I’m really, really good at that.)
What I’m trying to say, I guess, is that money is losing value to me—which is ironic, considering we live in one of the most expensive metropolitan areas in the country. But I guess it makes sense because money really does have less value here. It doesn’t get you as much. And from spending nearly 10 hours on the Capital Beltway every week, I can absolutely tell you that money does not buy happiness—just Maseratis with angry owners.
And so I wait—wait for that perfect opportunity to take the leap and start doing what I actually want to do.
But a perfect job isn’t going to fix my life. Only Jesus can do that—but not until He returns. For now, we live under grace, and grace is the glue that allows us to stand before the throne, broken, yet beautiful to Him. Worthy.
I am on a journey of giving up control. As much as I want to be in control of my life, I am not. My pride makes me believe that I can be my own master. Oh, how I have been proven wrong!
Yet there is grace enough to get me through these days of waiting. Grace enough to get me through the fear. And grace enough to give me the courage to take the leap when the opportunity presents itself.
Father, let that opportunity be soon.
The lesson you’d do well not to forget
Your life could be the one its wisdom saves
At sea, where you’re beleaguered and beset
On every side by strife of wind and waves
Despite the best of maps and the bravest men
For all their mighty names and massive forms
There’ll never be and has never been
A ship or fleet secure against the storms
When kings upon the main have clung to pride
And held themselves as masters of the sea
I’ve held them down beneath the crushing tide
Till they have learned that no one masters me
But grace can still be found within the gale
With fear and reverence, raise your ragged sail