Growing up I used to think that there would be a point in my life where I would arrive.
I would have a good job doing what I love.
I would have my own place (not realistic anymore).
I would have my group of friends that hung out all the time and encouraged each other.
I would have a good position in a church, doing what I was made to do.
I would have my music, and eventually have my own album recorded.
The minute I graduated from college, I knew that none of this would probably happen as I wanted it.
It took me two full months to get a job, at a donut shop.
I moved into a house with five other girls a month later.
I didn’t really have any close friends once school picked back up again because they were all busy.
I took over as worship leader at a church, where I sometimes felt unappreciated, overworked and burnt out.
I did record a small cd, with somewhat terrible quality.
Then when it came time to start paying off my student loans, I knew my current situation wasn’t going to cut it.
So I moved home.
Into my old room.
Into old habits.
Into old friendships.
Into my old self who let other people walk all over her.
If you’ve read my blog at any point before this, you probably read that I had an opportunity to work at a camp I grew up at. I was so excited and so nervous to go up there and be in a different place. But it was going to be worth it because I would be doing the things that I love.
I had tried emailing the director two times to ask when I should make the trip up there.
Today he finally emailed me back. He told me that they just got done laying off two people and he’s still waiting to see how things will work out. Also, that he’ll give me an update in the next two weeks. In the mean time, I’ve already given notice at my job. I already have all of July planned out with last minute trips, spending most of my money on traveling before I move up there. And now it’s not a for sure thing anymore?
I read the email at work sinking further down into my chair as I filled with anxiety thinking about what the hell else I’m supposed to do if I don’t get this job. The job that was a trial position in the first place. A job that I was going out on a limb to even take, because I decided I was going to have faith that everything was going to work out and I would get hired on permanently after the trial period was over.
There hasn’t been a day in the past six months of being home that I haven’t regretted it. Moving home.
I’ve loved pouring into good friendships since being home, and I don’t regret that.
But honestly. I’m just scared as hell.
I’m scared that I moved home and now I’ll be stuck.
I’m scared that I’ll never be able to travel like I want to.
I’m scared that I’ll never be able to move some place random and start my life the way I truly want to.
I’m just scared. Of everything. Of failure in life.
And I don’t know what to do.
I want to be back in college with my friends. In close proximity where we could all talk to each other and encourage each other. I miss it so much. I miss my dear friends.
I wish that life wasn’t so hard.
I wish being an adult wasn’t so scary.
I have become the most anxiety ridden I have ever been since moving home.
I’m praying so hard that God will direct my path. I trust that he has great things for me, things that my ideas can’t even measure up to. All I want is to be free. Free of expectations. Free of anxiety and hurt. Free of debt. Free of hatred towards myself for not being able to handle anything. I want to be free of all of these things, but mostly my fear.
I want to walk through life confident that I can do this. I have God right beside me and there is no way he is going to let me fall.