When Things Don't Go As Planned

I'm on the cusp of 31, mostly jobless, living with my parents and trying to make the most of a life I didn't expect to live. In many ways this life is far better then anything I could have imagined. I've traveled further, adventured more dangerously, connected more deeply and developed more grit and grace than I ever could have expected.

At the same time, somewhere around 27, I realized that life—the one I had laid out for myself, the one I assumed would fall into place—was not, in fact, falling into place. To be honest, it wasn't even close and in many ways still isn't. 

By 27 I was introduced to the concept of embracing curve balls. I had gone on my meager share of dates, left the country, and finally tackled online bill pay. I had a solid group of friends and convinced myself to stop wearing headbands (thanks, Gossip Girl). After an unexpected season of change, I was also coming out of a crippling depression and settling into a new chapter. I was adventuring on weekends and making bucket lists with my roommate. I was enjoying life and perhaps, most importantly, laughter was no longer a matter of force. 

While internally things were looking up, externally I was still unhappy with my circumstances. I was burned out at work, unsure how to get out or where I'd go when I got there. I was single with no potential suitors, wandering through the end of my 20's with more questions than answers. Life was not what I thought it would be (married, dream job, financial stability to travel and be a homemaker with purpose and direction, saving the world with my wit and humility one Instagram post at a time) nor was it anywhere close. 

So I had a choice: 1) Sit and wallow in pity, mourning a life that was never mine to begin with or 2) Embrace the life I was gifted, celebrate its victories and root myself deeper each day in God's plan for my life, the one I was already living even when my plan didn't work out.

Fast forward four years. I've quit my job, moved out of my apartment, away from friends and the life and city I've known as home my entire adult life to pursue a dream. With savings to back me, parents to house me, my hometown to greet me, and a few side hustles to get me by, I thought my life would finally start coming together. New life, who 'dis? 

But that didn't happen.

Once the dust settled and the boxes were unpacked (except for the majority still housed in my sister's garage), I started what I thought would be my new life.

Every morning I drank my coffee, packed my lunch and my laptop and headed out the door. For weeks I ventured to work on this new life of mine. At first 8-hour days of typing, Excel spreadsheets, email correspondence and internet research. Then 6-hour days of side hustles. Then 5-hour days of errands and checking off lists until my hours turned into anxiety like brain fog, constant worry, weepy eyes, a weighted heart and shortness of breath.  

My anxiety turned into tears and the tears came often. I cried in my room and with my mom. I cried beside my sister’s hospital bed, her newborn son blissfully unaware of his very insecure, confused aunt. I cried with friends over Thanksgiving dinner and through it all mourned the loss of yet another failed plan that was never mine to begin with. 

See, here's the thing. When I moved to pursue my dream, I had great plans of how it would all come together. Within a few months I would feel inspired, find my purpose, find a job or launch a business and a life, having fun in the midst of it all. It would be challenging but exciting and best of all my life would finally start to make sense. Instead of wondering about my purpose, I'd be living it.

But like I said, that didn't happen. Instead, everything fell apart. The leads I had didn't lead. The words I thought I'd write never came. I questioned more than I decided and lost my identity in the process.  Once again, the life I laid out for myself, the one I thought would fall into place, was not, in fact, falling into place. 

And do you know what? I'm still there. I'm still in it. I'm still in the deciding and unsure of the path ahead. I'm unsteady. But instead of mourning a life that was never mine to begin with, I'm choosing, again, to embrace the life I've been given because that is where the adventure lies and purpose begins. 

So what am I going to do? All I really know to do is to show up. I'm going to show up to life each day, hoping the fog lifts with each rising sun as I root down in God's plan and not my own. Because after all, that's what I've been praying for all along—not my will, but His be done (Luke 22:42). My purpose rests in Him alone, glorifying Him in all things, no matter how big or small my steps may seem.