People buy the most random and mundane shit, especially when they go on holiday. While living in Istanbul somebody asked me to bring them back a snow globe as a souvenir. I don't know what for because there is nothing exciting about a snow globe. Maybe some children are fascinated by them because they have this sense of excitement and wonder at the whirling mess. A picturesque town lined with plastic evergreen cones, people making snow angels in the park, inevitably a reindeer leaps off a rooftop, and then with a good shake the dandruff like substance inside the plastic sphere swirls around until it begins floating lightly downward. They are all the same. I reluctantly bought one for this person and eventually threw it away because I've not seen them since. A silly waste of five lira; I could have gotten a kebab and salty yogurt drink.
Living in Southern California however we don't have snow globes. If we did we'd probably need to crack them open to use the water which is increasingly in low supply around here. Despite not seeing them, I've been living inside of one lately. One of those particles aimlessly floating around until the next violent stir of the water only to be flung about, swirling and drifting about trapped inside this confinement. This picture has been in my mind for weeks now, induced by downright discontentment and sheer frustration. I've been working for the greater part of my twenties at restaurants that I don't believe in. Whether it be an owner who is high on coke threatening to fire people in his state of hyper-vigilance or watching a pork chop land in the stairwell only to get thrown back on the grill before hitting the table two minutes later. I'm appalled by these places. What is the point? These jobs have allowed me the freedom to travel, to take time off and do things I love, I'll concede that. But as year 29 commences I have got to make better choices for my future.
The problem is, with a Bachelors in Theater Arts, a year teaching English abroad, interning for a pastor at church, a freshly obtained yoga teacher certification, and an understanding of a few different languages there isn't a job in this entire world that's built for me. I would go back to school if I thought it would actually contribute to me finding a longstanding career I might enjoy. I refuse to go to work for something I don't believe in. Since graduating from university six years ago I have continued to traverse the globe, mostly on mission trips ranging from two weeks to ten months, but in the end I come back home because my familial community is here. Restaurant business is what I know here so that's where I land, and they are all the same. I wish I could make myself the promise that this one is the last one I'll ever work for. That soon I'll quit and never step in the Back of House of again. But when I remember what it's like to work for a lucrative one I'm reminded that money talks--and that's another language I speak.
Let me set one thing straight. I know my attitude sucks right now. I'm fully aware that I am in a perpetual state of lazy irritability. My hamstring flaring up thwarts me from running and the sprained wrist prevents yoga practice. Not making money at the restaurant means I don't go out, I don't buy art supplies, I don't pay off debt, I don't fix my car, and eventually the shit all hits the fan. As I watch it all come raining down on top of me I can't seem to be convinced to keep doing the same thing anymore, to simply switch business establishments or move in order to try it somewhere else seems like pure insanity. I realize something does have to change though. Just maybe it will only take one drastic shift; then I can make the changes I need to carve out my path for the next decade. Ten years ago I thought by this time I'd be married, maybe have a kid already too. I once lived with a guy who was 55 years old, never been married, he just taught ESL courses during the day and at night would talk about the women he was in love with who were half his age. It was pathetic, lonely, and sad. Perhaps I'm trying to avoid that trajectory, being old and alone, delusional to the reality of my present. Maybe I have been blinded to the reality of the present, believing that this course is somehow sustainable. I'm holding on to the little pieces of hope that tell me that it's all going to be okay, that I'll possibly find my niche.
On Easter Sunday I knelt by the baptism pool, my knees wet as water seeped through my trousers and I gripped the hand of the high school kid in the water in front of me. I've been mentoring him for the last six months since he gave his life to Christ. The pastor I interned under was kneeling beside me and while I prayed he affirmed the boy's faith as he supported is back with a hand. Tears welled, streaming onto our cheeks and we could not veil our joyous smiles. A declaration of death and life, something so real and beautiful and eternal. It was a sliver of light for me, the breath of air I needed as I struggle to tread water in my own circumstances, a reminder of what really matters. "Is this what drowning feels like or will I finally learn to swim?" I've often wondered to myself. Mostly, I feel as if I'm gasping for breath but this one was given to me full, without merit or solicitation. However, participating in this proclamation of faith liberated me, at least momentarily, from the closed, selfish confines of this bubble of self loathing and despair that I am living in.
I cannot spend my adult life working a meaningless job, not in a restaurant, not for a company, not for anything I don't believe in. It feels like a form of prostitution, giving myself just make money. It's selling out, ignoring my authentic self--the gifts, talents, desires, and dreams that God has instilled inside me. Four years ago I walked away from it all; sold everything and moved across the world. In giving up material things I found a cathartic release to the expectations of society but I also discovered a deeper desire for emotional connectedness. These recent months have provoked questions of identity, purpose, sexuality, and intimacy as I wonder how to live a life that glorifies God given the particular lot I was dealt. When you strip it all away, when all the stuff is gone, no meaningful job, no love-life, no goals--there's no trajectory for hope.
Living in Southern California however we don't have snow globes. If we did we'd probably need to crack them open to use the water which is increasingly in low supply around here. Despite not seeing them, I've been living inside of one lately. One of those particles aimlessly floating around until the next violent stir of the water only to be flung about, swirling and drifting about trapped inside this confinement. This picture has been in my mind for weeks now, induced by downright discontentment and sheer frustration. I've been working for the greater part of my twenties at restaurants that I don't believe in. Whether it be an owner who is high on coke threatening to fire people in his state of hyper-vigilance or watching a pork chop land in the stairwell only to get thrown back on the grill before hitting the table two minutes later. I'm appalled by these places. What is the point? These jobs have allowed me the freedom to travel, to take time off and do things I love, I'll concede that. But as year 29 commences I have got to make better choices for my future.
The problem is, with a Bachelors in Theater Arts, a year teaching English abroad, interning for a pastor at church, a freshly obtained yoga teacher certification, and an understanding of a few different languages there isn't a job in this entire world that's built for me. I would go back to school if I thought it would actually contribute to me finding a longstanding career I might enjoy. I refuse to go to work for something I don't believe in. Since graduating from university six years ago I have continued to traverse the globe, mostly on mission trips ranging from two weeks to ten months, but in the end I come back home because my familial community is here. Restaurant business is what I know here so that's where I land, and they are all the same. I wish I could make myself the promise that this one is the last one I'll ever work for. That soon I'll quit and never step in the Back of House of again. But when I remember what it's like to work for a lucrative one I'm reminded that money talks--and that's another language I speak.
Let me set one thing straight. I know my attitude sucks right now. I'm fully aware that I am in a perpetual state of lazy irritability. My hamstring flaring up thwarts me from running and the sprained wrist prevents yoga practice. Not making money at the restaurant means I don't go out, I don't buy art supplies, I don't pay off debt, I don't fix my car, and eventually the shit all hits the fan. As I watch it all come raining down on top of me I can't seem to be convinced to keep doing the same thing anymore, to simply switch business establishments or move in order to try it somewhere else seems like pure insanity. I realize something does have to change though. Just maybe it will only take one drastic shift; then I can make the changes I need to carve out my path for the next decade. Ten years ago I thought by this time I'd be married, maybe have a kid already too. I once lived with a guy who was 55 years old, never been married, he just taught ESL courses during the day and at night would talk about the women he was in love with who were half his age. It was pathetic, lonely, and sad. Perhaps I'm trying to avoid that trajectory, being old and alone, delusional to the reality of my present. Maybe I have been blinded to the reality of the present, believing that this course is somehow sustainable. I'm holding on to the little pieces of hope that tell me that it's all going to be okay, that I'll possibly find my niche.
On Easter Sunday I knelt by the baptism pool, my knees wet as water seeped through my trousers and I gripped the hand of the high school kid in the water in front of me. I've been mentoring him for the last six months since he gave his life to Christ. The pastor I interned under was kneeling beside me and while I prayed he affirmed the boy's faith as he supported is back with a hand. Tears welled, streaming onto our cheeks and we could not veil our joyous smiles. A declaration of death and life, something so real and beautiful and eternal. It was a sliver of light for me, the breath of air I needed as I struggle to tread water in my own circumstances, a reminder of what really matters. "Is this what drowning feels like or will I finally learn to swim?" I've often wondered to myself. Mostly, I feel as if I'm gasping for breath but this one was given to me full, without merit or solicitation. However, participating in this proclamation of faith liberated me, at least momentarily, from the closed, selfish confines of this bubble of self loathing and despair that I am living in.
I cannot spend my adult life working a meaningless job, not in a restaurant, not for a company, not for anything I don't believe in. It feels like a form of prostitution, giving myself just make money. It's selling out, ignoring my authentic self--the gifts, talents, desires, and dreams that God has instilled inside me. Four years ago I walked away from it all; sold everything and moved across the world. In giving up material things I found a cathartic release to the expectations of society but I also discovered a deeper desire for emotional connectedness. These recent months have provoked questions of identity, purpose, sexuality, and intimacy as I wonder how to live a life that glorifies God given the particular lot I was dealt. When you strip it all away, when all the stuff is gone, no meaningful job, no love-life, no goals--there's no trajectory for hope.
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