Secrets

I’m going to let you in on a little secret.

I have no idea what I’m doing with my life.

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I have a college degree. I don’t smell exceptionally bad. I’d like to think I’m intelligent, and I have decent social skills (unless you’re 1. above an 8 on the hotness scale or 2. some sort of celebrity, and then I have a tendency to freak out and say something completely inane).

I figured it would be easy to get a job after graduation. I thought I’d maybe pay my dues working at Starbucks (which was mainly just a joke, because I’m an English major) for a year for a little extra income, and my book would be written by late 2013. Then my plan was to move to LA and try my hand at screenwriting.

Really, it was just a matter of time before I was lavished with celebrity friends and designer clothing after inevitably becoming an overnight success. I mean, my dad used to tell me I was really special. But like…did other people just know that, or was I going to have to tell them?

I completed my last semester in college by hanging out studying abroad in England, where I’m fairly certain I spent more time in planes than in my classes. I ran all around Europe, made like 462 new friends on Facebook (which is an important measure of your popularity, people. I don’t know why everyone is all like “Facebook doesn’t even matter in real life” FACEBOOK IS REAL LIFE, YOU IGNORANT WENCHES), and developed an unquenchable thirst for adventure.

And then after 6 months I came home…to Quincy (population: 5,000).

My credit card was maxed out. My piggy bank was woefully empty. All my “get rich quick” schemes were just NOT working out for some dumb reason, so I finally caved and applied for–ugh–a job.

I applied to Starbucks, and also to Pier 1, just in case Starbucks decided I wasn’t fit for a barista (in which case I would have had to burn the place down, because KRISTEN NOT FIT TO BE SURROUNDED BY COFFEE ALL DAY ERR DAY LIKE WHO ARE YOU), and I was offered both jobs. I took them both, not realizing the stress I would be putting on myself. There were days where I’d have to open at Starbs at 4:30am and then I’d skip on over to Pier 1 and work the closing shift there. At first, it was fine. I grew up working on a farm, I know what a 16-hr day looks like, I thought. The long days didn’t bother me too much, and I told myself I’d write when I got off work. Or after work the following day. Or on my next day off.

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I never did.

I felt guilty for calling myself a writer.

I wondered if my expensive, private university education had been wasted on someone as unmotivated and worthless as me.

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I dreamed every day of going back to England, and I started imagining what my life would look like in LA. As much as I tried to be content and thrive where I was, I felt like I was going to explode. I needed to get out. My prayers always went something like Dear God thanks for the jobs I have but could you please help me get down to LA? oh yeah I mean if thats the plan ok thanks God, talk to you tomorrow. 

I lacked direction. I lacked motivation. After almost a year, even LA started to seem like a bad idea.

And then, an opportunity: I was told about a new YWAM base starting up near Portland (YWAM = Youth With A Mission, which is what I was doing in Argentina when I was 18), and I was asked to staff. I’d be part of the first school (DTS) to take place. We’d go on a two-month mission trip to either Ireland or Brazil. The theme was adventure, for Pete’s sake–what more could I have possibly asked for?

Dear God thanks for the opportunity but I still really want to go to LA

(If you haven’t picked up on this yet, I’m really stubborn).

Finally, after a few weeks, I decided that I needed to start acting like the Christian I claimed to be.

Ok God, tell me where you want me.

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I quit both jobs. I visited a friend in Boston (which really confused the crap out of all my Facebook friends, WHO ARE ALL SUPER IMPORTANT, CLEARLY), and I finally accepted the fact that I was going to pour all my energy into YWAM and not my own lavish Hollywood dreams. I had direction again. I had motivation. I had all these amazing plans for the students who I had yet to meet, even though not enough students had signed up. It didn’t worry me. If this was God’s plan, it was going to happen.

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But then…there were no students. Though we waited a few weeks, the DTS was eventually called off, and I again was left with no direction, no plan, no income, nothing. Nothing, strangely, except for this weird peace that tells me that this is the plan.

Dear God, what’s going on?

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I find myself in an incredibly rare position.

I don’t have a job. I don’t have a husband. I don’t have any kids, or any prior commitments. There is absolutely nothing stopping me from packing a bag, going to the airport, and catching the first plane to Australia.

I can literally do anything I want,

but I am so terrified of doing the wrong thing.

Dear God…

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So I’ve been hanging out in Quincy, working on the farm, hanging out with my family, and writing for the first time in ages.

But what’s that? I feel something up my sleeve….