A Season of Undoing

We do a lot in life. We are a culture of doers who define ourselves by the work we do, the shows we watch, adventures we take, and music we listen to. Not only that, but people expect us to do too. Our families need us, our friends anticipate replies within a reasonable timeframe, and our bosses require quality work if we want that direct deposit to keep showing up.  

Because of all we do, we have a lot to show for it. We have coordinated kitchens and wardrobes updated by season. We go on vacations paid for by jobs that define to the world something about who we are by worth or contribution. In time, we have a significant other, a family, a cute puppy or friendly houseplant all for show in 15 second clips and photos posed or passed for candid as we caption moments adding up to less than the Cliff Notes version of our lives.

I, too, am a doer. I’m a worker, an adventurer, an acts-of-servicer who has not only a hard time saying no but a mad case of FOMO. I fill the space in my day with the noise of my closest device or easiest click. I’m easily accessible with a full schedule and a suitcase that gets more action than I do.

Because of this, I (used to) have a lot to show for myself. I had a job with a title, a lease with my name on it, furniture I owned, a trajectory I could explain or at least the appearance of one so no one asked. I was young, my eggs still viable and outlook still good. “Travel while you’re young!” they said with gusto, “you’ve got plenty of time” as they swatted away age with reprieve.

But then I quit my job. And then I quit my “in-between” job. I gave up my apartment (twice) and my eggs aged past the point of freezing. I started fearing social gatherings where I might be asked “so, what exactly are you doing right now?” and started preparing my answer in advance then perfected my methods of deflection. 

Here's the thing. We do a lot in life and have a lot to show for it. I, too, do a lot in life and, once, had a lot to show for it (titles, furniture, potential). But then, I gave up everything I was doing and with it went the titles, the stuff, and the image I created for myself. 

As hard as this loss of image was, unbeknownst to me, I actually prayed for this. You see, at the beginning of this year, after reading this article, I began to pray God would take away all things that were not of him. I prayed everything unlike him would fade away and turn to dust.

In doing that, in praying that prayer, I realize now the titles and image I created for myself were exactly that—man-made. While I was busy curating my Instagram, God was more concerned about curating me. I know that now because there isn’t much left of my old life except, thank God, the community that stuck by me through it all.

But it’s not about the stuff. Stuff and jobs and families are wonderful things. They are a blessing and we are actually created for those things. Personally, I know I am at my happiest when I am adventuring and connecting with people. The problem, however, is when all of those good and wonderful things start to define who we are. When our doing takes over our being and we replace Christ’s image of who we are with society’s expectation of who we are or should be.

I don’t want to live a life of shoulds. I don’t want to be taken over by doing or titles or anybody’s expectation of self, even my own. I want to be consumed by the confidence that everything I do has God at its core. All of him and the little of me it requires to get the job done. This is my new beginning. Same story, new end.