My Phone is Off, and You Don't Need Me: A PhD Student Life

 Since 2014, I have been "on." 

What felt like every second of every day, I was checking my email, my texts, my work app texts. While this was partly self-imposed due to a paranoia that I would miss something, it was also very much expected that I would respond. That paranoia was confirmed, as those who did not respond immediately were chastised. Everywhere I looked, everywhere I went, I was surrounded by eyes and expectations. 

Being a salaried employee is wonderful and so secure, but it can go down a big hill on a little tractor so fast. There's a sense of ownership that comes alongside a steady paycheck that is inhuman. 

I even answered emails on my honeymoon. I answer emails at 1am in my bed. I answer phone calls in dead sleep two hours before the workday starts. I am dependable. 

I tried to create boundaries in my life, but after a certain point, where life begins and where work begins becomes so convoluted that you lose where you are in the world, outside of your worth to the system as a whole. 

My husband, in his kindness, allowed me to put trust in an opportunity. I left my job. The release was not immediate. Halfway through my graduate assistant orientation for my PhD program, I felt a sudden surge of joy when a meeting ran long: I work 20 hours a week. When those 20 hours conclude, c'est le fin. Time taken in one place is deducted in another. 

My mornings since the beginning of August have been spent drinking coffee with my husband in the soft sun of the morning. We cook lunches together before parting for our separate office spaces upstairs. Though it will soon be dark when we conclude our work projects, we will have been able to spend the best part of the day and the best parts of ourselves with one another--not the war-warn exhausted shells we have been able to give over at the end of the days. 

There is such joy in the freedom to learn. I can give of myself freely, but I am at no one's beck and call. I am not so naive to deny that a PhD might very well be brutal, but I will not deny the intensity of the freedom, the joy, the release that I have been granted so graciously. 

The Dangers of Ambition

Sometimes, it is difficult for me to ascertain whether it's the Christian or the woman part of me that causes my ambition to be question and squelched.

Contentment with your position is valued above all. If you love God, then you should be content with where he has led you. If you are a woman, you should be thankful that you are being respected or paid well at all, especially since it might not be a long-term investment in you, being a baby-maker and all.

Sometimes, this is communicated overtly, sometimes covertly.

The contentment issue, though, is not. Be thankful, they say. Be thankful that you have a job and a good community.

However, what I am wondering is if ambition and thankfulness are maybe not mutually exclusive things. I am thankful for my job. I am thankful for my workmates and for the community of really wonderful people that I work for. I am thankful for the consistent grace and pay and 4 minute commute. I am thankful for the beautiful grounds that I can walk briefly every hour. I am thankful for the luscious autonomy I enjoy after being in my position going on 6 years. I am thankful.

Does that mean I am not allowed to want more? Where is the line between greed and drive?

I've been told that I shouldn't desire more rungs on the ladder.
I've been told I should be happy.

What if I could be happy going through several different doors instead of just the one hallway? What if there's another option for me that could potentially lead, not just to my happiness, but potentially to the happiness of another group? Shouldn't utilitarian principles outweigh?

I'm currently sorting through a very full plate of thoughts, and it feels confusing on a host of levels: loyalty, community, family, purpose, future-thinking, sentimentalism, ambition.

What if ambition were re-framed as "growth". Would it be ok then? Would it be kosher to express that, while thankful, you desire a bit of a change so that you can continue to grow and flourish? But what if that choice hurts your team? Or perhaps ambition, or even growth, is always a two-edged sword. No one grows without destroying at least a part of their past: a seed discards its shell as it sprouts. At the end, though, you get a zucchini. Unless, of course, a groundhog eats it.

Crawlspace Creatures

The groundhogs have to go.

For more than a year, they have hunted us, and we them.

Since the raid began, we have captured 2 chinchilla rats, 4 groundhogs, 1 opossum, and one very angry raccoon who, admittedly, was framed by the groundhogs.

You'd think we had rid ourselves.

Currently, one groundhog lies deceased in our "humane" trap as a warning to the others.

Their response? A sit in protest in the front yard.

One would also think our cat would do something. Anything.

But no. She is also on strike. We have the dog during one of the rainiest weeks in Siloam, so she can't come inside. Thus, she watches the groundhog with this look in her eye like, "See if I care, human."

My Amazon wishlist is full of murder devices.
My "humane release" heart has hardened.

Julius doesn't believe me that they could have found their way back across two tributaries and 10 miles.

But he doesn't know them like I know them.

Fools, well-meaning fools, have suggested we just "fill in the hole" into the crawlspace.
AS THOUGH WE HADN'T CONSIDERED THAT.

The heart wants what the heart wants, though, and they want in. Filling a hole won't deter them.
They'll just dig another.
We'll fill it.
They'll dig another.
We'll fill it.
They'll dig another.
And then the house sucks down into the ground like a Florida sinkhole. We've read the testimonies of fellow victims.

We will not make their mistakes. "[W]e are going to fight and our fight will be merciless".

First Year's Stones and Waffles

Marriage year one is in the books. There were so many firsts for me in our love story, but they were mostly seconds for Julius. Of course, every experience is different, but it feels really nice to say that our first anniversary was the first wedding anniversary he's ever had as well.

Our first year, I suppose, was very straight-forward. And, in others, not so straightforward. There's no "normal", though, so I guess we were normal.

We kicked it off with a honeymoon at Galveston beach, which is quiet and quirky and perfect for us. Then a week with my family at the lake.

It felt like I left almost as soon as we got home, however. Texas scooped me up for five straight weeks. In the moment, I really like travel season. Months before I start in with the anxiety and dread. Luckily, last year this manifested in packing up meals to freeze. By the time I left, he had a meal for each and every meal that I'd miss. Needless to say, the freezer was packed. Meanwhile, Julius played tennis, went to work, hung out with his friends, and went to graduate classes. I couldn't help but feel he had more fun than I did.

We had our struggles. Like me coming back from travel season to find the dishes not done for 5 weeks and a stench of a bachelor in every room. This was not aided by the old individualistic patterns that had allowed themselves to reinstate in us during our 5 weeks apart.

It took a while, but we got back into a groove. Meals started reappearing with consistency, the floors and bathrooms, dishes, were cleaned, laundry was washed and folded, roles began to establish in terms of who does what.

Winter sunk in, and with it, the darkness. It's hard to go play and do when the world closes in around you even before you leave the office. We learned hard lessons about togetherness and friendships. How, when your work and class schedules dominate your time, sometimes you have to sacrifice additional fun things with non-spouse friends because, well, you haven't seen your spouse in days.

We learned about grace and immediate honesty, how that generally bodes better than eventual honesty. We learned about unlearning.

Family was new again, as well. His who had been used to him living with them now had to share and relinquish. Mine who is used to me showing up often had to anticipate me less and for shorter periods of time. I experienced what only-child holidays are like, and he learned to cope with what I'm sure felt like repeat scenes from My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

We discovered that we get along best if I drive. He also learned the importance of packing snacks. Always.

Probably hardest was finding the balance between roommate and romance. He was used to coming home and disappearing away to be by himself for hours. I was used to coming home to a happy house of introvert women I loved with all my heart. Even if I was alone in my room, best friends were right outside. Marriage changed both those things. Julius had to learn to communicate with another person when he got home--and that coming home is an essential part of that equation. Meanwhile, I was alone. How does a reclusive introvert with an open office layout day job make friends and engage with others when she leaves work if she comes home to an empty house? How do you not attack your husband with love and a desperate need to connect when he arrives home exhausted and uninterested in connection? Where do those needs find balance?

At the end of the year, two very strong-willed, hot-tempered people found ways to compromise, to learn, and to love one another. We threw stones, we made waffles, we figured it out.

Yard Work and Summer Good Feels

At Glenwood Gables, our yard owns us.

A few months ago, I attacked two of the three enormous bushes (fondly known as Monster and Devil).
They grew back.

We poured poison on them, chocked their roots full of epsom salt before a rain storm, hacked at them.

They grew. In fact, our efforts seemed to fuel them.

Monster grew back with a vengence and took over a huge section of the back corner.

And then there's Demon.
Trunk to tip thorns, and it was growing by the day, gaining speed and covering an entire kitchen window as well as part of the gate to the fence.

I don't think they would have bothered me so much, but from my spot at the kitchen table, they were all that I could see.

I needed them dead.
I needed backup.

Enter: The Julius.
We put our bets on him, and we were proven correct with our choice.

Down went Demon.

The garden was a whole other situation, and Makayla (and some me as well, but I mostly handled the irises and a strange buried stack of bricks that was preventing mowing) tackled it with perseverance weeding, cutting down the outer levels of grass, and mulching.

We're all very busy and usually stressed (the life of an introvert doesn't take much to overwhelm) but finally our house is starting to look less like a fairy tale villain lair and more like a cozy cottage, complete with gnome.

Then, with our two-day yard work extravaganza done, we went to the pool, put together some delicious homemade pizza, played games, and napped.

Happiness is: friendship and achieving goals.

Remember Your Editor

I have now worked at JBU for exactly a year.

It's fitting that today I should find myself helping to train our new counselor: sending her informational emails/templates/codes, helping her learn the day to day and mark her calendar for different fairs and school events.

In this year, I have learned a lot.
Basics such as how to look like a professional (still a work in progress), how to plan for travel season, how to fill my desk days. I've also learned how to make a shower floor shine white, how to plan a weekly food menu, and how to solve my lava-hot room problem by picking out functional (and cute) thermal curtains.

It's been a good chapter, but it didn't start out that way.

During the first draft, there were late mornings, nose rings, frozen chimichangas, late nights, and a lot of energetic flailing.

Each month, each chapter section, brought changes wrought by many editors: my bosses, my housemates, my family, my friends, my God, and myself.

A good writer recognizes the reality of the "shitty first draft". The SFD is the first go-round of thoughts in the book writing process, and usually the most excitable.
Ink pours out of you, as new characters, setting details, and big picture ideas spurt into your right brain.

There's all this stuff!! All this new!! And for a while, you think it's the best thing ever brought into creation.
Until you meet your editor.

Enter: opposition.

They give you feedback you usually aren't ready to accept graciously (or at all), and you emotionally recoil and fight back vehemently, defending your paragraphs like a banshee.

All alone later, though, you take a look back at what you've created.
There's been enough distance now that, "Oh gosh...my editor was right", and you start implementing their corrections, awkwardly at first until you learn to merge your voice with their ideas. You practice and you correct till it begins to feel natural, as though it had been you all along.

We finish and we forget: this chapter isn't ours.
Without our editors, we would have pages full of microwaveable Mexican food, unprofessional-ism, the wrong addresses, lethargy, loneliness, and exhaustion.

Our editors bring with them momentary anxiety, frustration, pain, and sometimes embarrassment, but they are the ones who turn our outlines into books.

On Being Adult

Two weekends ago, I traveled down to Dallas for a college friend's wedding.

It was beautiful and strange to see her get married. She's had a pretty crazy journey through the past several years. These friends' weddings are a fun time to be able to get back together with people I was close to in college and have now been dispersed throughout the states.

These girls comprised a good portion of my freshmen year hallway, except a little sister, a husband (who was in the male half of our freshmen friend group) and a hometown best friend that have since been added as honorary members.

For the purpose of consolidation, two work friends and I decided to drive together and picked up a student who needed to attend a friend's wedding of her own.

She was very perky. One of the questions she posed to me on the way there was if I was sad that we didn't get spring break like the rest of the campus.

It resulted in this conversation:

"Well dude, when you become an adult--"
"--I AM an adult!!"
"No. You are not. Anyway. When you become an adu--"
"--which I am already"
"No. You are not. Anyway. When you--"
"I'm already an adult though."
"Do you work a 9-5? No? Do you pay your own bills? No? Have you ever lived on your own for any amount of time? No? Not an adult. Now then. Allow me to answer your question."

I went on to explain to her that when you become an adult, you learn to appreciate different things. Life is not a hallway of your best friends, playing music on the quad, learning, and every meal prepared for you by someone else.

I've learned to appreciate the good coupon (there was an online deal for half off pizza from Dominos last week that saved a ton when I went on a school visit), the way I can make a shower floor shine, when I get to go to the post office, a well written grocery list, a pencil skirt that is functional, fashionable, and comfortable, the fact that on spring break we get to wear jeans to work.

It's a different life, this chapter of realism. It takes a lot of energy to be a college student. Ha. This slower pace works well for me, but it is funny. From her perspective, it all sounds miserable what I said; but those are all things I genuinely appreciate about the day to day.

Different years will bring different stories, and this is mine right now: the daily grind of the newly adult.

Snow Dump

Despite the fact that we had 70 degree weather all last week, Arkansas decided to grace us with winter. HELLOOOOO SNOW and ice. and sleet. and uck.

My dear housemate Sarah left me a note saying she went ahead and walked to work to get out her angst about the whole affair.

I had to unbury my vehicle.

My response to frustration is laughter. It's kind of disconcerting actually.

While I was attacking the multiple inches of snow and ice coating the Big Blue Whale, I repeatedly laugh-yelled "THIS IS RIDICULOUS", as I knew that once I got to work, I was to be leading an outdoor campus tour for a group of students.

During this treasure hunt, two of the littles from across the street came outside to throw show in the air and squeal with happiness.

Talk about perspective.

Me, the cranky adult, super annoyed at the super inconvenience to my two mile commute and minimal effort lifestyle, thinking only of how the ice was going to destroy a perfectly decent February morning and visit.

Then the littles, delighted at the prospect of school being out and having all day to play, build snowmen, have snowball fights, make snow ice cream, sled, and have fun! It felt like that scene in Father of the Bride II where the father looks out of the car window of horrible parent-child interactions while the mother looks out her window to picturesque scenes of parent-child affection.

Snow is the same then as it is now, but my response and sentiments toward it have become increasingly...icy (forgive me).

And yet, no matter how in my way and underfoot it is (literally), I can't help but quietly stare at it glitter and make my campus and my office and my home feel magical and wintery and right.

Once the tour was over and we, the counselors, were frozen but pretty cheerful, as per always (thank you, coffee), and I picked me up some marshmallows and designed a yum recipe for cocoa (two parts powder sugar to one part cocoa powder, dash salt, almond milk), I settled in to my blanket and my fate.

Hello snow.

It's Not Easy Being Green

Though I would classify myself as a follower, conformity has never been something that's come easily to me.

My workplace has a definite herd mentality, though, and I've been working hard to maybe fit in a little more. 

One way I have been doing that is through participation in their health kicks. 

They are super about "cleanses". Generally, they are couple cleanses, and I have instructed Julius to notify Area 51 if I ever suggest doing such a thing. 

And yet. Here I am, doing a cleanse. 

I drank the Kool-Aid, folks, or, rather, the green smoothie. 

A lot of green smoothie. 

For three weeks (I'm on day one of week two), I have made myself a green smoothie. 

Let's be honest. 

The going is rough. 

Twice now, I have consumed with many many faces of pain, a smoothie containing an entire grapefruit and a base of spinach. Ain't nothin' could cover that. My insides felt like they were going to dissolve. 

Today's was better. It had a kale base with nearly a whole pineapple, cranberries, and a lime. 

The flavor was delicious. Texture? A whole different story. Imagine drinking a bush. 

On the whole, doing this has been a good practice in learning that conformity doesn't exactly mean brainwashing or losing your identity in deference for oneness. 

Sometimes, joining the herd is just part of gaining some common ground. It gives you something third party and objective to talk about, a shared practice/experience. 

Being your own person is cool and all, but it's kind of lonely sitting back and poking fun or shunning group activities like you're too cool. Being alone isn't cool at all. It's just lonely. 

Sure, you may want them to, you know, like you for you and stuff, but sometimes you have to take a step in their direction just to give them a bridge toward your island of self. 

On Authority and Noserings or "Because I'm Willing"

Who I was in college is no secret.

With my long, blonde curls, my loose fitting clothing, my barefootedness, my hooped nosering, and my refusal to wear makeup, I was your classic flower child. Shoot, I was even in an indie band. 

My favorite story was the time I spoke in a board meeting in my hot pink, tye dye sundress, mud on my ankles included. 

Needless to say, my transition to "professional" has been difficult. 

I have had to have "conference room tweaking chats" about things I never would have dreamed would be a problem, like walking on the grass or my nosering (okay, yes, I did have a couple nightmares about that one). 

Wearing shoes, sitting at a desk, learning how to be a classy, polished lady, does not come naturally, and, though I ask for direction often, I don't always feel as though I'm given clear paths. Mostly, because a lot of the things I have come into conflict with have been things that a lot of people would implicitly understand. 

Being an extremely literal person (and a drugless hippie), that implicit understanding skipped me. And, to be honest, sometimes the direction I'm given goes so completely against everything I am. 

For example, it's difficult for me to have a sunny attitude about A. keeping my shoes on and B. keeping my bare feet out of the grass. 

Yesterday, there was a pretty brutal "tweaking" conversation with me that took me wholly off-guard. 

I left it frustrated and confused and sad, confused at why God had brought me back here to fail again and again and again. 

Then, last night, I went to my craigslist Bible study with my boyfriend Julius (the only one in the group who would be able to appreciate the irony of the topic for the evening). 

You ever read First or Second Peter? Yah? Good. Then you know where I'm going with this. 

No? Well, let me tell you. 

The main focus is pursuing harmony, repaying evil with good, submitting to authority with a humble heart, and prayer. 

KEY POINT A: 

1 Peter 4 talks about keeping a clear mind and self control in order that you may pray. 

Now, you may think, "What???!" 

But it makes sense. Track with me here. 

You are attacked with a mixture of truth and anger. 

You respond with cortisol (stress hormone), a mess of tears, confusion, frustration, and all kinds of other stuff. Your heart and mind are so stuffed with hot emotion that there isn't any room to understand. 

It's when you take every thought captive (self  control) and quiet yourself (clear your mind) that you can glean the truth, humble yourself, see areas of need for both growth and grace, and learn how to pray well, both for yourself and the other party involved. 

KEY POINT B: 

1 Peter 5 speaks to the elders of the church about taking care of those underneath them, but what Peter says I think is applicable to us all. He exhorts them to do good "not because you must, but because you are willing, as God wants you to be; not pursuing dishonest gain, but eager to serve".

I used to be a debater, so I read a lot about Jean Lacques' social contract.
When you enter into a society, there is an implicit (sometimes explicit) set of social rules and regulations that you agree to adhere to (again, formal or informal). 

When you break that social contract, you open yourself to correction because you have removed yourself from the "society". You following? 

I entered into this world and this job and this university willingly. The things they have asked of me are not things which come naturally, but they are things that I will adjust, not because I must but because I am willing; because I love my job and my university and my students/families alike. 

My approach has been with the wrong heart. I'm not sure I would go so far as to say it's been for "dishonest gain", but it also hasn't been with an "eager to serve" spirit. 

So, it's time to take a Devil Wears Prada attitude and amp it up. 

The hoop is gone, the heels are on, and, with coffee cup in hand and a smile on my face, I'm tearlessly, fearlessly here, at my desk, ready to recruit. 

Craigslist Friendship

Things started getting desperate, folks.

Moving to a small college town is rough.
No matter where you go, what you do, the only people you find yourself surrounded by are University folk: students, faculty, and alumni.

Now, let's get one thing straight: I adore University folk. Obviously.
However, I spend all day every day working with them, and I go to church with them. I really needed to find a group of people to spend time with that are unaffiliated with my life.

Furthermore, I've found myself in a very natural post-grad state of feeling like I'm floating.
There's no goal.
There's no timeline.

I will come to work tomorrow and the next day and the next day and this summer and the next summer for as long as we both shall live.

Talk about depressing...

A second Master's degree was put back on the table just to give me an outlet (they don't offer cosmo school at night. Weird, right?).

Over the weekend, two of my dearest friends came in to town for a wedding.
I had such constructive, deep, and refreshing conversations with them, and it tipped me past my "toleration of my current life" point, by virtue of reminding me what it is that I'm missing out on by not really having any friends in this place.

Abby, though, told me about this place called meetup.com.
It's like craigslist for friendship.
Yes. Please be shocked at my desperate measures.

I found and RSVPd to a Bible study in Fayetteville.
And I actually went.

Upon arrival, I realized that I had no way of knowing who they were and began to inwardly panic, but thanks to my profile and RSVP, they found me.

About 7 of us from all stages of life talked through 1&2 Timothy, Titus, and Philemon chapter by chapter, challenging one another, sharing questions and insights.

It was SO GOOD for my soul, just being around people who had nothing to do with my school or town and talking about Jesus in a constructive manner.

Relief is what I felt. I know I'm not in school anymore, and I do need a break, but not having anything to sharpen my mind and learn was driving me to distraction.

In post-college life, friends aren't just handed to you anymore. These days, it takes being courageous, being bold, being darling, and being daring to make friends. I'm working on it.

Why I Love My Job

Daily, I come home with mixed emotions about:

a. Living in The States

b. Living in Arkansas

c. Having a job

I get to this lathered-up place where the panic about being confined to one place and a job that keeps me hostage for 8 hours a day overwhelms me. And so many days I come home from that job so wiped out that I begin to panic anew, fearing that my magnetic strong urges toward the hermit life are indicative that I didn't actually kick my depression out of my life, but rather quieted it for a few months. 

Frankly, that aspect is a definite possibility. 

However, there is one thing I know for certain: my job is exactly the place for me. 

Let me tell you why. 

Though a large chunk of what I do is through spreadsheets and emails and endless details and planning details (so many of which I accidentally neglect), the more weighty piece of what I do is interact with perspective students and their families. 

This is what I live for. 

My whole job with those students is maximizing opportunity. 

For however long I get to lead them on tours or talk on the phone with them or talk to them in the office or at my booth, I get to spend time making them feel valued and valuable and wanted and adventurous and important. I get to listen to their hopes and dreams and make them feel as though the actualization of those hopes and dreams is something within their grasp. 

I love it. I love my students, and I believe in both them and the university for which I work. Matchmaking the two when it "feels right" is the best feeling in the world. 

Two For The Books (or blog)

What do we not see in this picture, folks? 

Can anybody tell me? 

An obnoxious, red "MaintReq" light. 

Baby's first oil change! 

Day 2 of adulting went indefinitely different than Day 1. 

I boldly walked into Benton County Tires, (with my car key pre-taken off the ring), announced my name and appointment time, told them the year and make of Beastie (my Rav), handed over the keys and my coupon, and took a seat while the professionals did their thing. 

Now, I have a light-less car and may have even had my tires rotated. Still not sure why that is a helpful thing, but mostly I'm excited about the light being off. 

To temper my "adult" move, here's a picture of how I accidentally closed a tree branch into my car door. 

While we're on the topic of being a responsible adult, here's another small win that I've been waiting to reveal until it became a pattern, not an idea.

I wake up at the ungodly time of 5:30.
I started this last week during MomWeek2014.
Except this time, I was the mom.
TO MY DOG

Needless to say, it was magical. I could smatter this whole post with pictures of our moments together, but that would reveal just how obsessed I am with my small creature...

ANYWAY, little man wakes up at 5:30 (ish).
So, I started waking up them, feeding him, taking a bike ride, coming home to do my morning devos, then writing my thesis for an hour before getting ready for work.

I am still behind on submission schedule (was meant to submit a first full draft last saturday) but I edited my first chapter and wrote a second one doing this system.

What it's gonna take to get this done is channeling crazy college jamie.
There's a lot about her that I hope to never, never revive, but college jamie knew how to get crap done. That's for sure.

Goal finish date for chapter 1 is Monday.
Ready go.

The Path to Adulthood is Slippery

When I was a kid, I sucked at almost everything.
Because, duh, I was a kid.

I have this pretty ugly habit, though.
Of HATING things that I suck at.
So, naturally, I hated most activities.

Mostly I liked to swim.
I was good at swimming.
I'm still good at swimming.

Kids' parties which involved ice skating or roller skating were the worst. I would not even condescend to try and participate.

My very kind and socially aware mother put me in ice skating lessons. roller skating lessons. tennis lessons. volleyball lessons. basketball lessons.

Wanna know how much of those I cried through?
Dang near straight through the whole freaking entire first lesson.

I still suck at ice skating and roller skating (and still refuse to participate. When I go roller skating, I run around in socks, which is enormously more fun).
I straight up quit tennis.
Volleyball is a no go.
Basketball is on a "will if I have-to" basis.

But, during the lesson versions of those things (except tennis. I did not make it through tennis. Or that second volleyball camp), I got over it after the first lesson, even if I didn't love it.

My initial response to new things is frustration to the crying degree. Flash flood temper.

Yesterday, a "MainReqd" light came on in my car.
Checked the oil.
Rechecked it because no one believed I could do it right.

And it was decided that I needed an oil change, not really because I believe I need one but because I want that awful light to go off and leave me be.

Took it in during my lunch break; it was busy and I was super confused.
I felt really stupid and asked stupid questions and tried to be calm.
Did my shopping while I waited.
and waited.
and waited.
and what was supposed to take 15-20 minutes was an hour in and they still hadn't looked at my car.

I then gave up.
Took my car back to work.
And cried about it to be pretty honest.

Why?
Because I cry when I'm frustrated.
Which is frustrating.
And makes me cry.
It's a pretty vicious cycle.

But I got back to the office, asked around for really anywhere alternative for oil changes, sent an inquiry email, which I followed up with a call, scheduled an appointment, and even printed off a coupon from their website.

Two steps backward in the maturity sphere, but you can't be good at something you haven't tried before (unless you are literally the worst person in the universe. seriously. keep that stuff to yourself. we will key your car. in love.).

Now I know.
I know what kind of oil my car uses.
I know where to take it and where not to take it.
I know to use the internet instead of calling my dad first and panic him.

Next time, I'll kick this oil change in the trunk.

It's All In Your Head

No, I haven't been writing.

No, I haven't been writing at all.

Not letters, not content for my job, not in my journal, not on my blog.

The only word document that's gotten any love from me over the last month is my dissertation.

Let's be honest, it isn't going very well.

Sure, the research is done and the brainstorming has happened, and I've organized all my quotes and primary sources, but the actuality of writing this is just not coming along.

Wrote 4400 words.
Submitted them.
Received comments back saying it was interesting but needed an entirely different focus and direction.

I have a secret for you.
Please don't tell.
The literary community as a whole will for sure judge and ostracize me.

I don't get it.
I don't get literature.
Or its purpose.
Or why anyone would spend years of their life writing about literary theory.

Don't get me wrong. I absolutely love literature--to a fault really.
I also enjoy reading up on the theory of it.

But what is the purpose?
I can't find it.

And because I can't find it, I can't write it.

Somehow, literary theory is like math to me.
And results in very near hysteria from me.
Okay, so not "very near".
Actual hysteria.
The hissy fit kind.

The truth is, professor, that I can't write on how the knowledge of family structure and mental health illuminates a global understanding of the literature because I don't know myself.

It's the same struggle I have with other human beings.
I can see when they are feeling something, but I don't know what it is or why or how to go about deciphering it.

My vision is so literal. It isn't for lack of study or effort on my part. It feels as though I am blind and deaf to that sort of thinking.

So yes. This is me admitting that I have spent four years of university coping, finding alternative strategies to writing my literature papers in order to avoid literary theory.

Remember that "impostor syndrome"?
In this area, it really isn't so much of a syndrome so much as it that I really have been tricking people into thinking I know what I'm doing and have now been found out.
I haven't the faintest idea of what I'm doing.


So yes, my life is full of wonderful things.
I'm so glad to be here in Siloam.
I love my job.
I like being around my friends and housemates so so much.
My blog writing will probably be filled primarily with strategies, small wins, and struggles of writing a dissertation for a few weeks.

Adulting

Multiple times over the past few months, I would have an abolute panic attack about this whole adult thing, moderated by times when I was like, "Oh no prob. I can take on the world." (Literally).

I feared that I would be totally faulty at my job, totally unable to cope with the Big Move, and totally overwhelmed by the sheer responsibility and commitment of a full time job.

That last part may still give me some nightmares, but overall, I have a little wee comment.

My brother Chon told me, upon my most recent freak out in May, that the best way to cope with it is just to do it. I just have to do it. And the fact of the matter is that I might actually be inadequate at my job, have moments of sucking at this new/old culture, and overwhelmed, but I would be superhuman (or inhuman) if that were not true.

He also sent me a link to Paramore's song, "Ain't it Fun".

Chon was right.

With enormous things, sometimes the only choice you have is just to turn around and face it, even if you don't think you have much to face it with.

There's a chance that I wrote on this before (worth writing on again), but a few months ago, I was reading the Bible and re-read the section of the armour of God:
Ephesians 6:10-13:

¹⁰ Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. ¹¹ Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. ¹² For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. ¹³ Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.

And after you have done everything, to stand.

We align ourselves with Jesus, put what we've got on the line, and then we wait and we trust that if have followed where He led us, then He's going to show up and give power to our meager attempts at being sufficient.

We show up.

We turn and face our giants.

We adult.

And everything is okay. 

Big Girl Job: Week 1

Did I mention how completely structure-less my life was in NI?

It's worth mentioning. Or mentioning again.

Except for that 10am tea break, there ain't nothin' scheduled.

I went to class once a week, give or take. In the middle of the afternoon.

For a year, I existed in this weird 'I do what I want when I want' state.

I've got a riddle for you: What's tea-less and steel-structured?

The Adult Work Week.

8:30-5 every. single. day.

Yes, I recognize that none of you have an ounce of pity for me, "Uh. Yah. Duh. That's what being an adult looks like", but it is a pretty insane culture shock for me. There are a lot of naps involved in my life right  now.

Overall, though, I think I'm going to really like my job once I get going.

My fangirl for JBU thing comes in handy when leading campus tours, and I'm reading through the history of JBU (not helping the fangirl thing).

One particlarly interesting thing I've learned while reading is that John E. Brown Senior tried to leave Siloam nearly 6 times (I haven't finished the book; it could be more). More than that, he attempted to move the entire university over to Sulpher Springs for a few years, too.

And yet, every single time, he came back to her.

Once you find her, you never leave her.
It was never my plan or intention to be here right now, but yet here I am!! And I love it here.
Yes, it's small and a little dinky and we've got amish in our Walmart, but it's a place you want to call home. It's a place you want to build your bookshelves.

It's a place where you can TP your boss's office and not get fired...

still on the go, now as a pro

It is unreal to me that I've already been back in the states for over a week now.

In some ways, switching back to your home country is like riding a bike: no matter how long you've been away, you kinda slip back into the rhythm, the patterns of it all without much thought.

Things like driving on the "right" side of the road, having wal-mart within 5 miles, speaking americanized english, and being around my family--all things that I thought would be strange to readjust to--seem so normal.

Honestly (though I am pretty convinced it just hasn't hit me yet, been too busy), the only time I've even thought about it all is when I pull out my phone (I HAVE A PHONE AGAIN) to text someone and get concerned that I'm going to be texting them at an unreasonable hour...and then remember we're in the same timezone. If the hour is unreasonable for them, it is also unreasonable for me.

The big girl job started yesterday, and, despite the fact that my free-spirited self is dying a little inside with every moment of my confining, endless schedule, I think it is going to be a really fun job.

The people I work with are fun, sassy, like what they do, and really like my university.

I'm currently stuck in the training paperwork part (my goodness there are a lot of blanks to fill it to officially be a grown-up!), but once it gets going, I'll be all over it.

My recruiting regions are Siloam Springs, Arkansas and the entire state of Texas.

I'm pretty excited to get to use the people skills I've acquired over the past year dealing with people (good and challenging) while waitressing, living with others, and making friends in a country I knew nobody.

Bring it on, angsty teens and helicopter parents!

The Reasons Why

Today was part two of I don't even know how many interviews for a potential future job.

Yes, that was my mystery skype date while I was in Dublin that had me running all up and down the streets on my quest for Wifi.

Though I am simultaneously preparing to continue on with my plans to go to Denver Seminary (ie filling out a scholarship application, finding housing with Haley), my heart is with this job.

Interview one happened last week.

While prepping with my friend London and answering questions I thought might be asked, we came across two subjects that I should probably avoid: glitter and dancing.

What did I almost instantly bring up in my interview?

Glitter and dancing.

I have no recollection at all as to how I brought glitter into the conversation...twice...but I do know I told them that I handle stress by spontaneously breaking out into dance and silently serenading strangers. Which is true! But what?

At the same time, I felt good about the interview. I was very much myself, so they got a very clear image of who they would be getting if they chose to keep me.

Turns out, they liked me! Glitter and all, and I advanced to round two: today.

Please keep in mind all of these are via Skype. ha...

Today's interview I think went very similarly to the last. Prayer and some dancing (an interpretive rendition of Eye of the Tiger) to get the nerves out, then I presented myself.

I say the most bizarre things when under pressure. They're very me to say, but never in real life would they even pop into my mind as the answers.

Such as:

"What do you not like doing?" "Wedding showers, wearing high heels around short people, and running. I mostly curse when I run." "What would you do first if hired for this position." "Look for a roommate, buy business casual clothing, and start researching." "Do you have any other questions for us?" "You know, I really don't. I spend a good deal of my free time trolling your web page. Better than Pinterest...sometimes."

Oh man. Take me or leave me.

The one question I legitimately had a hard time answering was this: 

"What originally drew you to apply for this position?" 

Yikes. 

My answer is ready but not interview-ok. 

Also, my reasons now are not the same reasons as the original. 

They're better. 

They are Spirit led and family oriented and student ministry focused, but they are not the same. 

I gave them the new and not the old. 

But in a way, the old is just as beautiful, despite the outcome. 

It's beautiful because it demonstrates just how dynamically the Lord had started to shift my heart. 

Remember task-oriented plan-obsessed Jamie from senior year of college? The one whose 5 year plan ended with her in 3 different states, two continents, and two Master's degrees before she was 25? 

I'll tell you a secret.  

Those plans weren't spirit-filled at all. They were made out of fear. They were made because I couldn't handle the idea of not knowing where I was going, and I was terrified of landing aimless in Tulsa after my European adventure. 

I consulted God, but it wasn't about God. 

And the thing was, I made these plans, these super life-altering plans when I had a pretty serious significant other in my life. A significant other whose opinion I did not consult on the matter at all. 

The decision to apply for this position came the day I realized that I wanted to marry him more than I wanted to marry my plans. 

That...wow. A God who can rock this non-romantic, die-before-changing-her-plans girl's heart to that degree must be truly something else. 

See beyond the "girl who changes all her plans for a boy" part because I am not that girl. 

I'm the snotty, self-dependent girl who God revealed what love looks like to. 

Love is not self-seeking. It trusts. It perseveres. It encourages. It is full of faith. It acts out of faith. 

Love does.

Love is wild and it does wild things sometimes that go against every shred of logic in our minds. 

That is what love should look like: founded on truth and good things but manifested in the willingness to risk everything. 

That's what I had been missing, both in my relationship and my relationship with God. 

I had not been willing to risk everything. 

I had chosen what was safe to offer and hoarded and planned-out the rest. 

No, I am not going to marry that boy, but that's just not the point. 

In December, when everything seemed to fly apart for me, it was quite the opposite: Everything flew together. 

I fell desperately in love with Jesus like I just hadn't before. I thought I knew what love was for him. I even thought to a certain degree that I had given him my plans.

Jamie, letting someone have input in your plans is not the same as handing them over. 

Applying for this job is me obeying Jesus and following directly against what would be the "safe" route for me, even though that second option seems like the more risky one to everybody else. 

Applying for this job is me saying to Jesus, "Despite where it would take me, despite other people's opinions and desires for my life, despite the fact that this does not make sense to me in so many ways, I will follow you. I want to be with you more than I want to be with my plans." 

And when I was obedient and continued to push through with my application process even after the break-up, God was faithful to reveal to me just how badly I do want this and how well it would suit my heart and strengths. 

At this stage, the result doesn't even matter so much as the act of stepping out in faith. I may get this job, and I may not. The end is not the point. If I'm following Jesus, he's not going to stick me through the wrong door. The point is that I'm listening, expecting nothing, and am willing to risk everything. 

"What originally drew you to apply for this position?" 

Love. 

What kept me in the runnings? 

Love. 

I guess my answer hasn't changed so much, after all. 

"The 9-5" or "Working Girl"

Back when I lifeguarded, the joke amongst us used to be that if you described our job without actually saying what it is that we did, we'd sound a whole lot like hookers.

Feel free to think that's crass, but so many more things are funny after extended sun exposure and dehydration.

Either way, in college, I was in this creative writing poetry class, and designed a trixy poem doing just that: poetically describing the lifeguarding lifestyle, all without actually saying the word "lifeguard" until the very final line. Personally, I thought it was hilarious and so did my classmates. My professor so did not understand it. Mood. Killer.

I've got "Working Girl" on the mind because I am currently in the early stages of interviews to become part of the adult working community. However, my life as of now is so totally unstructured so as to make a 9-5 job sound absolutely terrible.

I've never been quite resigned to the idea of that sort of stifling routine. It was one of the main reasons the block schedule of University suited me so much better than the regularity of High School. There's room to breathe and flex.

My daddy did have an excellent strategy for University life, though, and it was this: treat every day like a work day. 9-5 focus, then after, you can play.

Time management leaning toward the study side has always been my strength, but by following his system, I am actually forced to put down the pencil/mop/keyboard/book and do something that refreshes me for the rest of the evening, even if that is a 15 hour nap. A set end time prevents burnout.

Since living here, I've had almost no form to my schedule at all, which means I've had no pressure to really do anything, which means I either read for 9 hours straight or do absolutely nothing for 9 days straight. Very few of my days here have I felt proud of the way that I've divvied up my hours. There are just way too many of them for me to handle sometimes.

Now it has come time to buckle down, though, and get me prepped and ready for the real world. That, and I really, really need to start writing my final papers.

Therefore, I have a new system, which is actually an old system.

"Work" starts at 9.
The phone stays off, Facebook and Pinterest don't get pulled up at all, and I have a full list of every sort of thing that could be considered "work" that I can feel free to engage in from 9-1:30.

1:30-2:30 is lunch break, then back to business until 5.

It's day two of my system, and I've written an additional 3 articles about garage doors, made substantial headway into one of my resources for my thesis, cleaned and mopped the kitchen, made five beds, organized three shelves, and gone to class/smallgroup/skypedate.

I've got flexibility in that I can choose what I spend my time doing but defined enough structure and pressure that I am actually inclined to do it. My mind feels clear and energized, and I finish every day feeling satisfied that I've been a good steward of the time allotted me.

Go team.