part-time poet

on faith, lack of clarity + transitions, transitions, transitions

I woke up this morning, rolled over, and filled my supple belly with envy. Slop, glut, from an old account I have, I scrolled on the Instagram page of a girl I know and turned green.

I knew something was terribly wrong when I envied someone whose life I don’t even want right now. She’s a wife. New mother. Has different interests than I do. Yet, I couldn’t understand why seeing her plagued me with a sick jealousy that felt foreign to me.

J watched me cry on FaceTime around 9 something and quickly got in his car to treat me to an Earl Grey and croissant while I cried outside of our local French-themed bakery. I want to marry him. With saline streaking down my face, I told him how I realized I wasn’t jealous of her life, but I envied her certainty.

Granted, social media is comprised of people’s highlight reels, and I have no clue how certain she is about her life and what season she is in—but it looks like it; that was enough to make me ill.

I realized it was not her life that I wanted, but that I had a deep pit of a stomach aching for the certainty of her life. Wonder if she has a clue how certain her life looks. This is a whole other rabbit hole. I told J about my revelation, and also included how my life might look put together to someone else, and yet I feel downtrodden with fear of the unknown. I just want to know.

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Last night, I stood in front of some of my endeared professors, classmates, and loved ones, and others, to present the poetry chapbook I’ve been working on since the summer. The capstone project is similar to a thesis, and it’s the last big project before finishing the English Master’s program at my university. I was a nervous wreck for most of the day and paralyzed by anxiety, but when I got to the podium, I knew I was at home, locked in, and I enjoyed myself.

I had some sentimental moments before the evening begun, recounting how this would be my last time going into a classroom at the institution I have attended since the beginning of my undergraduate career, but it was this morning that hit me the worst.

I realized I was having some kind of hybrid of an identity crisis, paralytic fear of the future, and sickness about the future. I realized that this is the first time in my life that I don’t have another certain upcoming semester or an internship or something academic that grounds me and makes me certain of what the future might hold. I realized maybe I didn’t have as much faith as I thought I did, and that I was leaning on my laurels and accolades to dictate my future and not the heart of God. This presents some issues for me.

I bawled my eyes swollen and could barely open my mouth to admit what I was thinking. I did not want to say with my mouth that I was scared of the next season. The concern felt foreign in my mouth. I cried to J, what if I hate my next season of life career/academic wise? What if I don’t get into any PhD programs? What if I don’t get a job I love? What if my car gets repo’d?

I know a lot of it is me just wanting my way. I’m praying (pray for me you, all) to have a heart that aligns with whatever God wants for me, but God knows it’s getting hard for me to pray with an open hand. I’m clutching onto my desires so much and I haven’t a clue if it’s because it’s my will or His. I’m tired.

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I started spiraling about my identity. Thought, what if when I’m not in a writing program I won’t be a writer? What if I stop? What if I don’t know who I am at all? I know I am the beloved of God, buy oh, my God, what if I’m not acutally a writer? Were the last couple of years a farce? But I remembered last night.

One of the professors I’ve developed a really good relationship with told me that he was so glad to see the poet side of me, since he taught me creative non-fiction. I told him that I moonlight as a poet, that I’m part-time. He, being of the most encouraging men I know looked me dead set in my eyes and told me “It’s not part-time.”

I am a writer. I’ve been a writer. I will always be a writer, prayerfully. God called me to be one before I knew I was one. But even in that kind of certainty, other uncertainties present themselves.

I hate liminal spaces. I just want to know. I want to know if God will give me a job that satisfies. Work that feels meaningful. I want to know if I’m getting into grad school. I want to know that my bills will be paid. I want to know that everything works out. I am tired.

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This is the nature of transitions. J tells me at the bakery that if we knew everything and how it was all going to turn out, we wouldn’t need God. I don’t know. I think I would still need Him. I’d just be a lot more prideful.

And if I don’t get into any programs, at least I’m already grieving all the academic validation that was. Good times. I miss it already. My mom asked me this morning why I was sad, wondered if it had to do with the fact I feel like I have nothing to do anymore. That’s the crux of it really. I’ve never had an unknown thing next. Things felt pretty certain. And now, I get to get used to something fresh, uncertainty.

Now, I am in a wide-open space. I will tell my soul that God is kind here, too. I am eager to see what He will do, and I’ll do my earnest to wait on Him.

With love,

Rebecca