Between Lemons and Lemonade

1968B*Image Credit Pascal Campion

I’m overwhelmed. Not a bit busy.


Right now I am 23 years old and its almost like I’m not. When I look at my friends, it’s like I’m not. Yes, I am blessed, two jobs, two dogs and a family that loves me. There are lists upon lists of blessings, I know that. But I feel like I’m running late, at the back of the pack.

Last spring I graduated with a degree in political science. For four years I burned with a passion for public policy. Four years of sweating through exams and of making the Deans List, a semester interning at the department of justice in DC, a job at a major law firm and another across the world in Pristina, Kosovo.

I was on a path. I felt on top. I was moving strong and steady, dues were being paid, I was earning my keep, I thought I knew what I wanted.

At some point overseas I felt the passion slow and dim though. The work wasn’t what I thought it’d be (despite countless hours of denial) and those idealistic expectations were disappearing in the dirty grimy reality that was.


And I come back to best friends happily married and talking about kids one day. I return to every single one of them that has a salary. That have benefits. That have something on their resume that is grown-up-work, not by-the-hour. They seem to have it all figured out, just how I felt in the not too distant past. I can’t tell if the post-grad life is letting me down or just my little inner critic.


But I have no idea what I want to do anymore. It’s terrifying me.


I started writing this blog in late August. I never really wrote anything before and after a few taps of the keys, I started spilling a lot of things that were too hard to say out loud. A lot of feelings and a lot of opinions. Some angry and some not. Years ago when I started making my plans for how my life would look I never thought I would consider writing to be a part of it. And then suddenly a few weeks ago I did, and I bought some web real estate and away I went. And I poured too much into this. I didn’t know what I was doing, still don’t know what I’m doing.

I broke a little bit tonight as I hit concrete wall of writers block. Nothing new or fresh was flowing. I was tapped out, am tapped out. Or I just feel that way. Anyhow. I realized I was using this blog as a distraction from a lot of other things. I made God an unwilling accessory of sorts.

And then I got really mad at myself.

I was maybe sinning.

Let me be clear so you don’t mistake what I am about to say, everything I’ve written about God has been out of my truthful understanding of him, the little bits that I know. But awhile back, maybe a month, a certain cloudiness hung over every joyful post I wrote about Jesus. It was a lot of squinting and parsing pieces together without actually making the effort of prayer or study. Without actually continuing to go to church. Church still makes me bristle. Evangelicals still make me cringe.


But I wrote about God like me and him were in the middle of something. Something grand and spiritual. When I got angry that night, that was a rare moment of a spiritual flame… but for the most part, He has started to feel a lot like a late grandfather that I had fond memories of once. And I hate that.


After awhile, this whole thing, it’s gotten a bit of a counterfeit feel. At least to me. I just wish I was no longer anonymous and have this whole damn show over with so that I can be held more accountable by more people. So I can let you see me. So that I can write more from the center of faith or at least, be more truthful. Anonymity has started to feel like a lie.


There’s a lot to think about and a lot happening all at once, but the silver lining? Questions of my sexuality are not popping up here and there like weeds or flowers. I guess, once again, I give those questions back to life, back to God, *back to the future*, maybe this will be one of those things that answers on its own, on its own unexpected timing.


For now, going to rest a bit. Or write a ton. Either way, I don’t want use this blog to distract me from the other things. Other things are equally important, pressing and difficult, but important.


How’s that for vulnerability?