Impatiently Awaiting my Significance

In the words of my BFNSCF, “Good blog-spiration comes so rarely that it has been nearly torturous having all these things to say and not being able to.” A lot has happened in my life in the last few months, and somehow, despite my vast love for the blogosphere I haven’t made it a point to write. I suppose some serious psychoanalyzing will have to occur to figure out why that is.

In the midst of so much life-changing and post-grad adventure, I think it has something to do with the fact that my life feels so trivial. A couple weeks ago I was organizing my new apartment (hooray!) and happened upon my folder of essays and assignments from my semester in Uganda. Reading through them I was astonished that it was in fact, I, who had written them. Not because I feel like I’ve grown so much since then. But because I feel like I have, in actuality, reverted from the enlightened and intellectual young woman writing about the damaging effects of foreign aid in Africa and paralleling Jack Kerouac’s style in my creative writing class. The young woman whose innermost thoughts I was reading was so far superior to me in every way I shrank in disappointment with myself.

What is even more startling is the fact that I’m not unhappy where I am! I live in a cute little Midwestern town with its own assortment of characters; many of whom I’m blessed to call my friends. My job is exactly what I signed up for and I’m so grateful to have learned as much as I have thus far ad have the autonomy that I have in my position (something not many entry-level workers can claim). And yet, I’m not the same American student at Uganda Christian University that I was over a year ago. Where is my connection with the Creator of the universe? Where is that astounding insight into my character and the characters of others? Where is my sense of significant purpose in this world?

Perhaps it can easily be summed up by the disillusionment that often accompanies the months after ending your undergraduate career. I’m not at all unique in this sort of quarter-life crisis. Or perhaps I should just own up to the fact that I have a redundantly restless spirit combined with a “grass is greener” complex. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because I’ve been kidding myself all this time in thinking I know what I want to do with my life. More than anything, I have to believe that I’ve been destined for great purpose on this earth. Right now, I’m like a petulant child, wanting my time of significance and change to arrive, without paying my dues.

Regardless, I know that I have to keep blogging. And yes, I’m well aware of how gosh-darn corny that sounds. But writing has always been my personal introspective magnifying glass and I have to believe that if I continue these brief glimpses of enlightenment into my own character, maybe, just maybe, I can discover who it is I am today, and who I’m destined to be.

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