ebb and flow

The cold settled on us here in Boise, all of a sudden, like a not-so-cozy blanket. Apparently it was called an "arctic air mass," which I guess is a fancy word for extremely brutal, atypical icy winds (we are talking 13 degrees here people!) just plain too early in the season. People have unearthed their dark-colored puffy jackets, hurriedly bustling through their days with their shoulders pulled up to their ears as if they are attached by strings, a sort-of grimace on their faces as they barrel through the wind. But, more typical, the sun has reappeared, temperatures have floated back up, and people are outside again enjoying, in my professional opinion, the best season Boise has to offer. Blue skies, crisp air, trees starting to shed their curtains and display the birds' nests that were hidden in their branches all along. I am so content to be a part of it.

Like everything else in this season, in the last month and a half, many things have changed color and shape in my life, transitioning seasons, some things settling like leaves floating to the ground, and other things all shaken up. It is that ebb and flow of early-twenties life, which, as a side note, I was immensely grateful to find out is not merely an “Alyssa’s early twenties” problem, but a phenomenon that so many of us are walking through. Thank you, so much, to all you readers, and especially to those who reached out to me after my last post with encouraging and the most kind words. What a wonderful way to feel not alone. Although Boise may be isolating from the rest of the communities I spent the last five years in, I feel so profoundly accompanied by friends near and far, by you sweet readers, and by being a part of a family unit again, as a daughter and sister.

Right after I wrote my last post, I got the job I applied for at Trader Joe’s, which is a place I have always thought would be good fun to work at. And it is, really, energetic and over-the-top friendly. I am quieter than most of the people that work there, which is saying something. But here is the kicker- about two weeks after I started working there, I found out I was called back for the Idaho Shakespeare Festival audition (the one that emotionally wrecked me, see last post for more details). Two weeks after that I was offered a role in the elementary school tour, and a week after that I declined the job. There are many small reasons I said no, or maybe just one big reason, but, the main thing I want to say about it is that sometimes you think something is right and then it turns out that it isn’t. And that’s okay. 

So here I am! In Boise, currently writing to you from my favorite perch, my window seat in my childhood bedroom, wondering about life and the journey, finally practicing piano again for a gig at the Christmas Festival of Trees in Boise, researching graduate programs, walking Piper, waiting to hear back from an audition at Boise Contemporary Theater, having lunch with new friends, reading about Julia Child, working like a crazy lady at my new job, wondering if I made the right choice, and deciding every day that I did. And really, I think it’s beautiful, and so lovely, that life had this surprise ready for me. I just had to do the frightful and scary work of learning how to step into something, to commit to it for a time, removing the self-added pressure of being afraid that this current season of working yet another job with no art is going to be my whole life. Obviously, the leaves on the tree are going to grow back! My friend Yesie told me once that this season of life is like a ski lift during the summer time. They stop operating the lift because there is no snow, not because it’s broken. It’s purpose hasn’t changed, and it’s still a very good ski lift. It just is way more efficient to run when the season calls for it, and be still when it doesn’t.

Not to say that this doesn’t have it’s challenges. My friend Jill always says the daily work of protesting despair and lies is akin to wrestling a small bear inside your heart. Some days he takes naps but other days he is more fierce than usual. For example, the other day,  I dropped a carton of blueberries that took advantage of their freedom everywhere, shattered a ceramic bowl full of coffee beans, splashed dirty soupy dish water all over my face and front, spilled the gross mop water on my foot, and was asked if I was indeed twelve-years-old by a customer for the gajillionth time. It is not glamorous! But it is good and necessary work to make the world go round, at least my little corner of it, for now, even if it’s not my career path for the rest of my life.

I think perhaps, as we twenty-somethings forage our way through the world, the most anxiety-inducing question we can be asked is that dreaded “where do you see yourself in five years?” (or worse, ten years!) I often want to respond, “Five years? I can barely see myself in two months!” Granted, I know several friends who have an answer ready to go, but for me, it sends my heart rate skyrocketing. Do other people feel this way, or is it just me? I still remember the sickening feeling in my stomach in my senior seminar class in college, after our professor told us that we needed to write an essay on our long term goals. I thought (and literally just said this to my mom again the other day), is it possible for my long term goal to be “get a long term goal?” Now don’t get me wrong here- I am beyond ready to throw myself into a goal. I’m just not ready to commit to one specific life path, which feels equal to locking myself into a box for the rest of my life. 

But, jokes aside, I’m not sure a five-years-away long term goal would do me any good right now, and at least not in the sense that people mean. When I wrote that essay on long term goals, the way my life has gone would have shocked me. Moving to San Jose, working with City Year, and then moving home to Boise- none of that was anywhere near my radar, with the moving home bit quite the opposite. Looking back, I can only say, “thank God,” because those events have proved to be some of the best adventures that ever happened to me. What a comfort to me now, and going forward, because much has happened here in Boise, again, all of which was contrary to my plan when I arrived home in June.

Thusly, because of all these rapid fire life changes and decisions I have been making, and am preparing to make, I have been really reconsidering what it means to have a long term goal. And I keep coming back to something Dr. George Kalantzis touched on in my senior Christian Thought class at Wheaton. On the first day of class, he told all of us to close our eyes and picture what success looked like for us. “Whatever you see in your head,” he said, “every decision you ever make in your life is going to take you closer to that image.” At the moment, I panicked, supposing I was going nowhere because I didn’t have an image. I sat there, heart racing, trying to force something’s appearance out of the empty void of my thoughts, but I couldn’t even try to think one up. But I’ve learned that the discovery of that image is a process, not a decision. It’s somewhat like making bread, right? The yeast goes in, but the result isn’t immediate. It has to sit and ruminate and if you take it out too soon, your dough falls flat. The process is part of the bread. I’m moving towards- towards something– I can feel it, even though I can’t quite see it. “And goodness, that is okay!” I tell that little bear of despair as he wriggles in my grasp, despite my best efforts. Trust the process, trust the process, trust the process. 

The other day, when I asked one of my coworkers how his day was going, he responded (without a hint of sarcasm), “Another day in paradise!” And I thought, “Well, you weren’t just on your hands and knees scrubbing the toilet.” Like, seriously? Paradise? But God is teaching me- my coworker’s notion of success, doing the good noble work of providing nourishment for the community, is just as important as anything else. I think many times us twenty-somethings can think of ourselves as world-savers, that we must exercise our voices and our talents in the culture and change the world, that it is our duty and obligation to do something important, or move somewhere impressive, or at the very least, do more for the world than what our friends are doing. The angst sets in when we can’t figure out what that Important thing is. But God is teaching me, too- and I am trying to believe it, with varying degrees of success- that this good earthy work of putting food on the table is just as important as being a pastor or a lawyer or a politician, or in my case, an artist. God is teaching me that sometimes, small is okay. God loves small things! Look at Mary! A 14 year old girl, who was just walking through her ordinary life when she was chosen to carry God inside her body. Look at Jesus! Jesus was born in Bethlehem for goodness sake! Everyone hated that place, and God sent Jesus in the midst of the small, to shepherds, who had the literal lowliest job of all. 

So after all that, what is the good life? I ask myself. What does that success look like for me?

I'm not sure I can answer that question, but what I can tell you is what I heard a wise man say a few weeks ago: "It is love alone that gives worth to all things." That if my work is an avenue to bestow love, to distill the love that God is pouring into me, then it is enough. The kingdom of God is brought about by small things like mustard seeds, and loving people, and faith.

Depending on the season, depending on if the leaves are blooming, or green, or drifting to the ground, what joy it is that this heart of love could look completely different in six months, or in one year or in five years. Maybe success looks different for me than it does for other people. That success is stopping places on the journey, and not about reaching a career I will do forever. I think it's about being in places where I can be useful, where I can make things with my hands and my heart, where I can be in community, working with, telling stories, loving people. What lovely freedom is available, if I can accept it, in the not knowing! What I do know, is that for me, right now, in my ordinary everyday, it happens to look like pouring turkey chili into sample cups. 

What I can also tell you is what my mom said to me the other day. That my life, after college and after City Year, is like a jar that is full of sand and water that's been shaken up, murky and brown. "It takes awhile for the sand to settle at the bottom," she said. "And it can only settle as fast as it settles. You can't force the water to become clear. It will, eventually, but you have to let it be still." We will know when we know, friends! It will all become clear, even if we can't see it yet. The ski lift will turn on again, the baby bear will hibernate, the leaves will blossom, and the birds will return to their nests and sing. We just have to give it time. 

-alyssa