Hanging In There

Photo by Ross Findon on Unsplash

I’m starting this week’s article thirty minutes after they normally are scheduled to go live. The week got away from me. Life has been doing that thing again, where everything seems to be happening all at once, and I’m just trying to keep treading water. But I’m here. The show must go on—albeit later than normal.

I’ve had a lot on my mind lately, and outside of these weekly diatribes, I don’t really talk to people about my problems. I also don’t plan to use these articles as weekly trauma dumps; that would suck for all of us. Still, I’m trying to find a balance between releasing some sort of pressure valve and sucking it up and “just being a man” about everything.

The thing is, I’m very overwhelmed with life right now. On the surface, things likely appear to be doing well, but down deep, there’s a churning discontent that I can’t absolve lately. Part of it is my utter frustration with my current job situation. The soulless life-crushing pursuit of a paycheck cannot be all there is to life.

I’ve read about other people having jobs they love, so I know such a thing exists. I’d even settle for something I liked, but I digress. Things are changing rapidly. This most recent change at my workplace may be the death knell for my employment there. I’ve started updating resumes and trying to see what options exist in the “real world.” I hate it. I hate change.

Disappearing into the woods seems like a viable option lately. Perhaps the travail of life is as good an excuse as any to retreat into nature and become the woodland hermit I was born to be. Maybe a vacation would be more practical, but I’ve never been accused of being practical.

I’m not sure if you recognize the seasons in your life, too, but I feel like I’ve been in a season of transition for the last year or so. It’s always fun when you know God is leading you somewhere, but there are no signs indicating any sort of direction. Living in the tension of knowing things are changing is exhausting. As the pressure builds, it forces me to make a move. But I have zero clue where to go. It’s not as fun as it sounds.

My biggest frustration is hearing well-meaning friends and loved ones say the same trope, “You’re so talented” or “Anyone would be lucky to have you,” and never really finding that place where my unmet potential and random skill sets align with a livable wage. It always seems the jobs I’d love to do pay next to nothing. It’s a sad irony.

The idea of just thugging it out at a job you hate for twenty-plus years to get a retirement you’re too exhausted to enjoy has always seemed absurd to me. Life is for now, not some future date. I’ve never believed in the existence of retirement for me. Fatally, I never expected to live as long as I have. I assumed I’d die in Iraq, and yet here I am, still kicking. Some heavy news from my family this week also rekindled that thought. Life is short, too damn short, why waste it languishing at a job that would replace you in an instant?

There are no answers yet, but I’m working on a solution. I’ve always hated complaining about something without having options to move toward. So that’s what I’m doing, debating options. Despite my dissonance, I am still a person of faith. That is what I’m leaning on. Hebrews 11:1 says, “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.” I’m going to rely on that.

I have hope, despite my best efforts at pessimism; I cling to that little shred of hope I have no business having. I guess that is the very definition of faith. I’m sorry if this is a little more frazzled than normal and surely less polished. Sometimes you’ve got to show up even when you don’t feel like it, and I guess that’s the crux of this week’s article.