A Dangerous Way of Thinking

 

 

I didn’t post on Wednesday.

I called it my “day of rebellion,” but it felt more like a day of sulking than anything.

Because frankly, my dear readers, I do give a damn.

I’m actually quite the sensitive type, although I pretend and protest and promise otherwise.

 

This week slammed me with [more] bad news. (It’s been weeks of this onslaught.)

I could tell by the envelope in the mailbox – it looked thin and limp against the well-fed bills. But I ripped it open with a surge of hope just the same, cutting my finger, praying to God that this envelope cradled the news I’d been waiting months for.

I cried right there on the side of the road.

A crumpled rejection letter in one hand, the other held to my mouth to stop the blood.

I didn’t care who saw me.

 

I’ll let you in on something: I have more than enough humanity to go around.

I mess up at all the right – and wrong – times, I say all the things a person ought to keep to herself, and I’m a bonafide Trouble-Maker. (Yes, that’s capitalized for a reason.)

So it should come as no surprise that I’m also a frequent wallower on the banks of self-pity. And let me tell you, those waters are murky.

Self-pity is a stagnant place, where the mud on the bottom sucks your feet down and renders you immobile. Useless and stuck and sinking. It’s quicksand, and it’s such a waste of life.

 

From where I sit now, I have no schedule to follow for my future. I’m a freelance writer with personal side projects and a night job to keep gas in my car and food in my stomach.

I’m no longer worried about what my resume proves.

I want to work towards something I actually believe in, not the safe and routine cubicle life that will keep me pampered until the day I die.

I’m rejecting safety, yet I don’t have the guts to embrace the unknown.

And I whine about my lack of plans and my lack of adventure in the same breath.

This has to change.

 

I don’t know about you, but I’m a believer in God. Not the small and comfortable version we tend to talk about over morning coffee, but the bigger God who hands us difficult truths and places us in dangerous situations and advises us to leave all that we call comfortable behind.

Facing this level of rejection, I’m tempted to feel like a failure.

But then again, I’m a believer in grace, in second chances of all shapes and sizes.

Four months ago, midst paperwork and phone calls, I prayed that if I stumbled across rejection, then it wasn’t meant to be at this time. It might be helpful to note that I’m also not a believer in chance or luck.

I still have a few possibilities, but it looks as if my life will be heading in a different direction.

And I have no idea which direction.

I’m a writer, but I’m also an adventurer, a lover of the open road. This isn’t just an open road ahead of me now, it’s an open future.

Uncertainty is something we never face willingly, and danger is something most of us don’t go searching for.

But I’m embracing them now.

Because I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.

And there’s something marvelous about that.

 

So tell me: When did you last face the gaping void of uncertainty?