confessions
Hello, my name is Stephanie Jean.
To be completely honest, I got lost for a little while. And to be even more honest, even though I am finding my way a little bit every day, I still feel lost. When I graduated from college, the world was my oyster. And I know it's all a matter of my limited perspective, but some days it doesn't feel that way.
When I first came home, I knew what I wanted. And yet I still dawdled. I have a tendency to procrastinate and it truly does get to the point of it being detrimental. Sure, sometimes running down to the wire creates the pressure needed to turn coal into diamonds. Other times the wire just snaps. Lately it's just been snapping and hitting me in the face.
I have dreams, but some days I doubt them. I know I need to be in some sort of helping profession. Everything else just seems meaningless. (And there are many careers that are not glamorous, but are completely necessary. I thank God for the people that do these jobs, the unrecognized daily heroes that help our world continue to turn.) I distinctly remember when I realized I needed to switch paths. I went to Syracuse with the plan of majoring in journalism, then taking the world by storm with my writing. I was going to write things that mattered, that made a difference. My identity as a writer became a deity of sorts. And then Newhouse knocked that idol off its pedestal in an instant. I doubted my gift. But more importantly, I realized I didn't want a career that was all about glorifying myself. Because to be honest, all I wanted was recognition. (And yes, I am well aware of the fact that I am being highly redundant with my use of the phrase "to be honest..." Consider it a stylistic choice. I am deliberately repeating it because I am confessing things that I kept to myself for a long time.) I also realized that the life of a writer wasn't for me. Well, not a journalist anyway. I had do desire to go to New York City. No desire to fight my way to the top. I realized I just wasn't aggressive enough to really go anywhere in the field. But perhaps that is just something I told myself when I gave up on my dream.
But I also realized a long time ago that I never wanted to be all about my career. It's frustrating to me that people dwell on my drive and motivation to establish myself academically, all in pursuit of this eventual career. If all you have is your career, what is the point? I want to love others and be loved. Oh, how I desire to be really and truly in love. I am well aware that love isn't God. God is God. God put those desires to love and be loved in our hearts so that he could fulfill them. But real and true love between people is an image of God's love for us and glorifies His love. People are complex and flawed. Only a perfect God could love someone perfectly. And I do believe we were all made for perfect love.
I find it hard to be satisfied with that love. And I hate the fact that it is so difficult for me to find contentment. Peace. I long for it.
I seem to have found myself on a slight tangent. But it's all related, I promise. It makes perfect sense in this silly head of mine. What was I talking about? Oh yeah, my career and my dreams.
As much as I want a career, doing something that makes a difference in the lives of others, to do something meaningful with my life, there's something else I desire as much, if not more. To have someone to share my life with. I want to share the little moments. The every day joys. Sure, I want to share the big stuff too. But I like the little details. Making breakfast and then eating it together. Or perhaps you're in the same room, doing different things, but you're still together, if that makes any sense. There's someone with you every step of the way.
I have a tendency to give away bits of my heart with ease. It's so easy for me to love, and I just want to give that person my heart. They don't always want it or know what to do with it. Some days I feel like I am holding onto a shredded paper heart, that I have ripped off too many pieces and given them away to people who weren't meant to receive that gift. I know I've given some things away that weren't mine to give. Not yet, anyway. I fear that when the day comes and I finally meet that right someone, I'll open up the treasure chest only to find a few scattered coins. That thought terrifies me.
I hate that some days (many days actually) I feel like I'm waiting for my life to begin. That's not living. And I've known for years that I tend to survive, not live, not thrive. It's like I have all the pieces to the puzzle, I just lack the vision to put them together. Some days I wonder if I'll ever have the vision.
Then I remember about hope. Trust. Faith. Love.
You have to walk through fire to remove the impurities.
Oh, and I'm cookie dough. I'm not done baking.
To be completely honest, I got lost for a little while. And to be even more honest, even though I am finding my way a little bit every day, I still feel lost. When I graduated from college, the world was my oyster. And I know it's all a matter of my limited perspective, but some days it doesn't feel that way.
When I first came home, I knew what I wanted. And yet I still dawdled. I have a tendency to procrastinate and it truly does get to the point of it being detrimental. Sure, sometimes running down to the wire creates the pressure needed to turn coal into diamonds. Other times the wire just snaps. Lately it's just been snapping and hitting me in the face.
I have dreams, but some days I doubt them. I know I need to be in some sort of helping profession. Everything else just seems meaningless. (And there are many careers that are not glamorous, but are completely necessary. I thank God for the people that do these jobs, the unrecognized daily heroes that help our world continue to turn.) I distinctly remember when I realized I needed to switch paths. I went to Syracuse with the plan of majoring in journalism, then taking the world by storm with my writing. I was going to write things that mattered, that made a difference. My identity as a writer became a deity of sorts. And then Newhouse knocked that idol off its pedestal in an instant. I doubted my gift. But more importantly, I realized I didn't want a career that was all about glorifying myself. Because to be honest, all I wanted was recognition. (And yes, I am well aware of the fact that I am being highly redundant with my use of the phrase "to be honest..." Consider it a stylistic choice. I am deliberately repeating it because I am confessing things that I kept to myself for a long time.) I also realized that the life of a writer wasn't for me. Well, not a journalist anyway. I had do desire to go to New York City. No desire to fight my way to the top. I realized I just wasn't aggressive enough to really go anywhere in the field. But perhaps that is just something I told myself when I gave up on my dream.
But I also realized a long time ago that I never wanted to be all about my career. It's frustrating to me that people dwell on my drive and motivation to establish myself academically, all in pursuit of this eventual career. If all you have is your career, what is the point? I want to love others and be loved. Oh, how I desire to be really and truly in love. I am well aware that love isn't God. God is God. God put those desires to love and be loved in our hearts so that he could fulfill them. But real and true love between people is an image of God's love for us and glorifies His love. People are complex and flawed. Only a perfect God could love someone perfectly. And I do believe we were all made for perfect love.
I find it hard to be satisfied with that love. And I hate the fact that it is so difficult for me to find contentment. Peace. I long for it.
I seem to have found myself on a slight tangent. But it's all related, I promise. It makes perfect sense in this silly head of mine. What was I talking about? Oh yeah, my career and my dreams.
As much as I want a career, doing something that makes a difference in the lives of others, to do something meaningful with my life, there's something else I desire as much, if not more. To have someone to share my life with. I want to share the little moments. The every day joys. Sure, I want to share the big stuff too. But I like the little details. Making breakfast and then eating it together. Or perhaps you're in the same room, doing different things, but you're still together, if that makes any sense. There's someone with you every step of the way.
I have a tendency to give away bits of my heart with ease. It's so easy for me to love, and I just want to give that person my heart. They don't always want it or know what to do with it. Some days I feel like I am holding onto a shredded paper heart, that I have ripped off too many pieces and given them away to people who weren't meant to receive that gift. I know I've given some things away that weren't mine to give. Not yet, anyway. I fear that when the day comes and I finally meet that right someone, I'll open up the treasure chest only to find a few scattered coins. That thought terrifies me.
I hate that some days (many days actually) I feel like I'm waiting for my life to begin. That's not living. And I've known for years that I tend to survive, not live, not thrive. It's like I have all the pieces to the puzzle, I just lack the vision to put them together. Some days I wonder if I'll ever have the vision.
Then I remember about hope. Trust. Faith. Love.
You have to walk through fire to remove the impurities.
Oh, and I'm cookie dough. I'm not done baking.