Here I am for the one-millionth time, frozen at an intersection with no clue which direction to turn. Last night at cell, we meditated on the question, “Where is God calling you?” The question made me really angry, and for me, anger tends to manifest itself in an eruption of streaming, messy tears. I realized that I am, and have been, very mad at God. I’m mad at God because I’ve been waiting on an answer to this question for over a year now. I’m mad at God because I feel like I’ve done a hell of a job at staying positive, going with the flow, and making ends meet in whatever way I can while I wait for His answer. I’m mad at God because people all around me seem to be getting their lives together while I have no idea what to expect next week, month, or year. I’m mad at God because once again it is time to make some real life decisions, and I don’t know what to do.
Although I finally got medical clearance and my Peace Corps file moved along to placement, I have heard absolutely nothing. I’ve tried to contact someone, anyone – writing to my nurse, calling the regional office, pestering friends – just so I can get an idea of when I might possibly be leaving, if at all. The only responses I’ve received have essentially said: “We don’t know,” “Wait,” and “Be flexible.” This is all fine and good, I understand that the process is complicated (obviously). The thing is, I don’t know how much longer I can live in a transitory state. Literally, I won’t have a place to live that much longer. If I’m really going all in for Peace Corps, I can’t sign another year-long lease. The hassle it takes to find rooms to sublet for uncertain amounts of time and move from place to place until I finally get called sounds miserable, complicated, and expensive. Sure, I could go back home where rent is free and just hang out until I get an invitation, but that would be a huge step backwards. Here in Philadelphia I have a nice job, endless social opportunities, and I actually feel like a fully-functioning adult. Back in Alabama I have no job, most of my friends have left, and I would be living in my childhood room. And what if I moved back home and never got an invitation? I would have thrown away everything I have going here for nothing. At what point does waiting on the future keep you from living in the present? At what point do you have to let go of an old dream to make way for new ones? Have I reached that point?
I’m tired of being flexible. Synonyms for flexible: compliant, yielding, pliable. I don’t want to be any of those. I want to be active, strong, in control, the maker of my own life. I feel like I’ve been sitting in the backseat, letting this huge bureaucratic organization drive me around in circles. If that’s what it means to be flexible, I want no part of it. And yet the allure of what could be if I just hold out a little longer is so strong. I’ve already cleared a hundred hurdles for this, would I really give up right at the end of the race?
My sister needs to know if I’m signing a lease with her by June. It’s coming up far too soon. God, where are you calling me?