My Road Full of Promise, My Head Full of Doubt

Ever since I was a boy, I've wanted to, one day, move to Ireland. It has been my unattainable goal, my unreachable destination. My eyes have had shamrocks and green hills and grey skies in them and my appetite for Guinness has been insatiable. There are times when I wake up, look out the window to a particularly overcast day and my heart swoons, "What I wouldn't give to be in Ireland right now, too ra loo ra loo ra."

My fascination began when I was eight years old. My class was having our international day fair and it was each student's assignment to build a poster board presentation for their country of choice. At that time in my life, I was fascinated with the Czech Republic because there's a large portion of my father's family from former Czechoslovakia. My presentation was decent enough, but nothing special. It seemed nobody else my age really cared about the former Soviet bloc.

One of my friends, Andrew Hansen, chose Ireland. If you had ever met this kid, you'd immediately know why: he was a tiny, pasty white ginger kid with the clearest green eyes and the brightest red hair. He was Irish Catholic, a Notre Dame fanatic and was one of the sweetest, most cheerful kids in the school.

For whatever reason, I decided early on that he would be nemesis and that I hated him. Obviously.

However, even I, in all my hatred for the Ginger Boy Wonder, couldn't help but gaze in wonderment at his glorious display for Ireland. It was heavenly -- the most beautiful pictures of rolling green meadows, and castles, and grey skies, and rosy cheeked people playing instruments in pubs and on street corners. He even had his mother bake homemade Irish soda bread for the class and he brought in a boombox that played a CD of Van Morrison with the Chieftains. And when I ate of the bread and drank deep the sounds of that album, my blood turned green and my heart beat with the rhythm of "Cockles and Mussels (Alive-Alive-Oh!)"

And, indeed, I felt alive. That was the moment I decided I wanted to live in Ireland for the rest of my life. Of course, when my grandmother on my mother's side informed me that my blood is MOSTLY Irish, that only added fuel to the fire.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A few years ago, I was surfing YouTube and found a video made by my (now) friend, Kyle Holland.



My heart was so broken by the interviewees that I embedded to the video to my MySpace and urged all my friends to join me in intercession and prayer for the country. I was surprised, a few days later, when Kyle emailed me and asked me about my desire to move to the country. I was even more surprised when I told my pastor about the email and found out that my pastor actually had known Kyle for quite a while. They went to a ministry training called Maranatha! together.

That was in 2006 or '07. Ever since I've been assuring Kyle that I've wanted to come to Youghal (the city he lives in) and help him with church plants, by leading worship or whatever. Sadly, that has yet to happen. It seems that whenever I have the opportunity to go, the opportunity gets dashed against the rocks. Everytime I save up enough money to go, I have to spend it on something; whenever I have time to go, I get a job; whenever I earn time to take off work, I get laid off and lose all the money I'd been saving up on trying to survive. It's always something.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

For the past week or so, Ireland has, once again, been on my heart and mind, so I've been praying for the country and trying to get caught up on recent news. Then, Ireland started coming up in everyday conversation with friends. Then, I started receiving an Irish e-newsletter in my email that I never renewed my subscription for and stopped receiving about a year ago. After all that, Kyle sent me a comment on Facebook that simply asked, "What are your plans now?"

Could all these occurrences by coincidences?

Ireland has never left my mind; I want to go there now just as much as I always have, if not moreso. However, now, unlike my teenage years or my college years, I have responsibilities -- I have bills to pay, careers to pursue and jobs to work. And, right now, I'm in the running for a very good job in Chicago. In fact, I'm the forerunner for the position. And this isn't just some job -- it's a legitimate career that has amazing pay and great benefits. And, if I got it, I'd be able to fulfill my other life-long dream of moving to Chicago.

And there, as the Bard says, lies the rub.

I am torn between two dreams.

My Self Worth

Monday morning, I woke up in a mood.

I felt worthless and defeated and frustrated with life. Megan sent me a text around noon that she was lined up for this amazing job opportunity that would entail her going to France every summer for free. As happy as I was for her (and I genuinely was), I was also a little discouraged that my ship has yet to come in.

Then I felt even more worthless. And the whole reason I was feeling so worthless was because I don't have a well-paying job.

How sad.

I was at my friend, Josh's, house and he was at work, so I didn't really have anything to do. As I sat on the couch, staring out the window in pure dejection, Josh's dog pawed at it and yipped, letting me know he wanted to go outside. So I did.

I sat in the back yard, watching him run around, chasing butterflies and rolling around in the grass. I watched the limbs of trees across the pond dance in the breeze and the clouds above me, scurrying by. I laid in the grass, folded my arms beneath my head, closed my eyes and felt the warmth of the sun on my face. I played tug of war with the dog and let him jump all over me and lick my face and ears and nip at my fingers. I grabbed my guitar and played a couple worship songs and even prayed for a bit.

I spent five hours in the backyard doing, for all intents and purposes, nothing.

And my troubles all seemed to melt away.

And I couldn't help but wonder, that maybe this was what we actually were created to do -- to live in communion with God and to enjoy His creation. That maybe work and jobs and careers shouldn't be my primary concern, that maybe loving and living with God should be.

The Librarian

As is indicative by the picture, I am quite sleepy. Today was the day from hell, and here I was thinking it was going to be wonderful.

I stayed up late with Megan last night, discussing the state of our relationship. Don't worry, everyone -- all is well and all will be better. But, every now and then, couples need to have that conversation, just to make sure both parties are heading towards the same destination. We both have issues we need to work on, and last night's conversation was a good way to highlight some of said issues.

I went to bed feeling good about what the next day would bring, but was in for a surprise.

To preface this story, I need to backtrack a bit further than my conversation with Megan: last night, I went to Jeff and Meggie's house for dinner and pipes and conversation. While there, Meggie started protesting the fact that she wouldn't be able to apply for a job the next day because she wouldn't have enough time to get all of the appropriate materials together. I asked her what job she was talking about, and she told me that Naperville Public Library is hiring for a shelving supervisor, but has an application deadline of 5pm on July 22. I reasoned that I would apply for that job.

That brings us up to speed.

So, this morning, I sat down at Lappy and spent the better part of four hours retyping my resume and cover letter so that it would be customized specifically for this job. I got everything together and, when trying to print all my materials up, realized that my printer wasn't working. Frustrating, but not a big deal -- I could save everything to a flash drive and have it printed up at a printer. Guess what -- can't find my flash drive anywhere. A little frustration builds, but not biggie -- I could save the three files (my resume, cover letter and reference sheet) to a DVD.

Mission accomplished.

The next step was gathering it all together, putting it in order and taking it to the library to apply in person. Now, one of the other materials required for this position was proof of highest level of education. So, since I graduated college with a BA, I either needed my diploma or transcripts. I went downstairs to my bedroom to find my diploma and, guess what -- I can't find it anywhere. It is nowhere to be found. At this point, I am getting really frustrated -- it's closing in on 1:30pm and I don't have ANY of the materials put together yet! After searching for 45 minutes, I freak out and give up. Of course, that happened after one of the dogs ran away. I spent another 15 minutes getting him back into the house.

Awesome. Time is just slipping away.

My only option was to drive all the way to DeKalb, have a copy of my transcript printed up, go to Copy Service and print my resume materials up, then drive all the way out to Naperville. It was 1:45 when I left Yorkville and all this driving added up to be around three and a half hours on the road.

There was no way in hell I was going to get everything turned in on time.

But here's the miraculous part -- I did get everything turned in on time. I hit every green light on the way there, I sped on I-88 and the police pulled over the people in front and back of me and there were no lines at Copy Service or at Williston Hall.

On the way to Naperville, I called the library's human resources department to make sure I had everything I needed organized and was informed that I still needed to fill out the library's application. That, according to the woman I spoke with, was probably the most important document of the bunch. But she informed that I could download the application from the library's website, fill it out and fax everything directly to her.

Mazel tov!

So, everything worked out. Megan coached me through the whole ordeal and kept encouraging me that everything would be fine. Sometimes, I need to hear the simplest words of wisdom to keep my cool, and she provided that. Mmmm. I really like that girl.

Now, a lot of you may be thinking that this seems like a lot of work just for a job. But, 1) I need a job, 2) in today's economy, I need to do whatever it takes to get a job, and 3) I want this particular job more than I've ever wanted any other job in my life.

I love books. I have a passion for books. I was an English major at NIU because I wanted to spend the rest of my life working with books, whether I was printing them, editing them, writing them, teaching from them or shelving them in a store or a library. Books are my utmost passion. You should see my personal collection sometime if you don't believe me!

A Bubble Maker's Dream

Lately, it seems as though my life is a bubble maker's dream; everyday, something shifts, something changes, something is moved by the winds of anything. There are times that I genuinely feel that my life no longer has any direction, that I'm just floating on the breeze and going where it takes me; "nobody knows from whence it comes or to where it goes."

Last Tuesday, my mom kicked me out of the house and I had to move to Josh Riley's apartment in DeKalb. Then, he talked me into signing a lease with him for a crazy expensive apartment in Sycamore. Then, he told me that his little brother would still be living with him (thus, since the new place has only two bedrooms, he wouldn't have much room for me). Then, my mom apologized and asked me to move home. Then, on Saturday night, my stepdad drove to DeKalb to repack all of my things and I am now, once again, living at home.

For how long?, who knows.

Notwithstanding my current homelessness, the horizon seems hopeful. I'm really hoping I can get some serious coin saved up so I can take my Eurotrips in the Spring and the Fall of 2010 -- 2-3 months in Ireland in the Spring, teaching English as a second language in the Fall for six months. I'm also hoping that the substitute teaching gig will fall into place; maybe I can get a night/weekend job as a waiter to supplement my income.

Who knows -- maybe Daddy's Day Magazine is going to be successful, so I can get wildly rich and never work again. I can't wait to be The Man.

The sun also rises.

Distance

Over the past two weeks, I have noticed a considerably sized chasm between my loved ones and myself. Everyone, really. I noticed it most this afternoon, whilst vacuuming the pool.

My mom sat at one of the tables, doing some paperwork, and the entire time she was sitting there, I just kept thinking to myself how little patience I have for her mere presence right now. Then I thought back to this morning's goings on, when I lent my stepdad an ear for the better part of five hours and listened to him drone on and on about how miserable he is. Then I thought back to the last conversation I had with my sister, when she told me about a whole slew of things I never knew about my mom.

And the more I thought about all of this stuff, the more frustrated I became. I just got more anxious, more testy, more angsty, more pissed off.

That's when it occurred to me: there is a battle raging and I am fighting this thing alone. And that's when I felt it--this great divide, this great chasm, this great distance that is separating me from my loved ones.

A couple weeks ago, I described my situation to my friend Joel and he said, "My God -- you are cut off from community and you are dying." The moment he said it, I realized it was true. And, at that point, I had only been away from my community, my people, for half of a week.

I'm not going to lie: there is a strange part of me that misses DeKalb. I take that back -- there is no part of me that misses DeKalb. It would be more apropos for me to say that I miss some of the people there.

When I lost my job in January and felt like I was at the end of my rope and even considering reverting back to my days of alcoholism, there were a handful of people that God had swoop into my life to help me pick up the pieces and carry on. He sent me some dear friends that I communed with on a daily basis; if I wasn't hanging out with one friend, I was with another. I spent afternoons with one person and evenings with another. I got used to constantly having someone there that cared about me and would call me, even if I hadn't called them in a couple days. I got used to having someone there would encourage me and laugh with me. That's become especially true with a dear, dear friend of mine who shall remain nameless -- I've gotten so used to hearing this person constantly reminding me of their love for me that, if a day goes by and I don't hear those words, "I love you," (I admit it), I feel a little empty inside. I feel a little hollow. I feel a little...

Cut off.

Now that I'm back in Yorkville, I feel like a stranger in a strange land. It's a shadow of something Jesus told his disciples: "Only in his hometown, among his relatives, and in his own house is a prophet without honor."

Granted, I do have a couple friends here: there's Little Bretty Poo, who lives down the street, and Jeff and Meggie, who live down the street in the other direction. I hardly ever see these people, though. It's nobody's fault and I'm not casting blame -- we're all busy people. Jeff and Meggie are married and should enjoy each other's company, Little Bretty Poo is home from college, just for the summer, and can't squeeze me into his itinerary without two weeks notice. Besides, he is now dating and should enjoy the company of his lady. Besides, I work every single day except for Monday. On the weekends, when everyone else is off work, I work two double shifts in a row (24 hours in two days!).

But, because of our commitments, I'm out of my element.

I was hoping my Love would be able to rescue me, even if it's just a simple phone call -- just so I would have some sort of contact with the outside world to make sure I wasn't actually totally alone. Our lines of communication, though, seem to have been cut.

I need to find a community here in Yorkville. I need to find a group of people that will remind me everyday that fighting the good fight of faith is worth it. I need that encouragement. I'm not the loner I thought I was.

At least I'm not anymore.

A Good Day

Today was a good day -- a much needed good day. Don't get me wrong, it didn't start off in a bed of roses, but its finish was impeccable; the only way it could have been any better is if my love were here to share it with me.

Mondays are my mom's day off, so she was to be home all day today -- I knew I had to be away. Far and away. I can't stand being anywhere near my mom as of late; her mere presence is enough to make my blood boil inside of me. Her mere presence is enough to send me into a state of hysterics. Her mere presence is enough to ruin a perfect day. She has nothing short of a toxic personality and I wasn't going to let her fumes poison this glorious Monday.

So, without any direction, without any plan, without any place to go or be, I got in my car and drove off. Whilst cruising around, with the windows down, to Peter Gabriel's Secret World Live double album, I decided to get some essential chores done: I emptied my change jar and deposited over $30 of coinage into my checking account, went to the post office and changed my forwarding address and then headed over to the Village Grind, a little mom and pop coffee shop in downtown Oswego.

After a small iced mocha and a home-baked chocolate chip cookie, I decided that I'm never going to Starbucks again.

The atmosphere inside was tremendous -- there are five different rooms that are connected in this shop, with homemade nick-nacks that are for sale decorating the walls. The floors are all hardwood and the shop is dimly lit, to make for a homey, comforting latte-sipping experience. I sat at a table in the corner with my coffee and biscuit, re-reading the Book of Ruth and watching the other patrons around me enjoy their beverages. I reasoned that this shop would be my new office space away from my office -- what better place to get some writing done?

Afterward, I headed out to the pool, despite today being my day off as well. Inside of the pool's clubhouse there is a small, makeshift workout room -- it has an elliptical, a couple treadmills, an exercise bike, some free weights and a couple machines that, at the very least, will make you feel like you have the resources to get a decent workout available. After running on the elliptical for half of an hour and burning a little over 240 calories, I swam for another half of an hour. If I do that everyday (which I am more than capable of, seeing as how I'll be there everyday this summer), I imagine I'll be looking a bit leaner by the end of the summer.

Now I'm going to segues to my next point:

To help me monitor my progress, I am going to post a new picture everyday on [ the drew ]. I've seen this done before and it has the potential to be pretty cool. The "photo-a-day" projects that I've seen are usually, at the very least, interesting. Granted, all of you out there in Reader Land will only be able to see my progress by seeing my face, but hopefully you'll be seeing my face grow slimmer and slimmer as the summer progresses.

And so we begin:

Come to think of it, after seeing this picture, perhaps I should invest in Rogaine so's that I can get rid of that empty space underneath my nose where my mustache should meet.

Hills and Valleys

I have some good news and some bad news.

THE GOOD NEWS:

Things are going well right now -- a little too well, perhaps. I keep waiting for something to go wrong, because it doesn't seem entirely natural to me that life is meant to be this... okay.

Megan and I are doing wonderfully. For those of you who may not remember, I mentioned her a few weeks ago (about a month ago actually) in a blog about going to Columbus, Ohio, but haven't really touched on her since. Our semi-pseudo-relationship couldn't possibly be any better than it is right now. Well... If we lived a bit closer to each other, that would make things better. But besides that, we couldn't be better. Albeit true, we have hit a couple really rough patches very early on in our relationship, we are pressing through, staying the course, a thousand points of light.

A thousand points of light...? That doesn't make any sense.

In the words of a dear friend of mine, we are laying low the mountains and filling in the valleys so that we may walk a straighter, more level path.

THE BAD NEWS:

I really don't know what this woman sees in me. This is probably just some self-esteem issue that I need to work out on my own; I'm probably a really great guy with a world of promise to offer. But, when I look in the mirror, I don't see that guy. I don't see the man she describes as "cute," "funny" or "sweet." I don't see the man that she claims to love.

When I look in the mirror, I see a derelict. I look at my shaggy hair and my unkempt beard and I wonder "Only a mother gorilla could love a face like this." I argue that the only reason she even remotely likes me is because we haven't seen each other in a long time -- "You have no idea what I look like now!" (as if I could change so much in one month)

It astounds me that a beautiful, talented woman like her could see anything in a guy like me. It astounds me that ANY girl could see anything in a guy like me. I marvel at the fact that there have been women in my life that have genuinely liked me. I marvel! In fact, there have been two occasions when I've had a girlfriend and it bothered me so much that she liked me that I freaked out and broke up with her. Is this normal behavior?? I'm not so sure it is. I even told Megan the other day, "You should probably end everything with me, move to France and marry a wealthy Parisian who'll bake baguettes for you and drink coffee on Les Champs-Elysees with you everyday." Megan should be with someone who has something to offer -- not me.

It just doesn't make sense to me.

Maybe I'm being a little harsh on myself. Again, this is probably a self-esteem issue that I need to work out for myself.

Maybe.

MORE GOOD NEWS:

I really love my job. This summer, just like the summers of the two years previous to this one, I am working at the swimming pool at Courtyards Village West Apartments in North Aurora. That's right -- I'm the poolboy.

Okay, it's true -- this picture was taken two years ago, when I was still moderately attractive, but there's not much different about this job today than the way it was two years ago. I still sit around with awesome sunglasses, working on a tan and reading. So far, this summer, in only five days at the pool, I've started and finished three books. The best part of all, is that I actually get paid for this! And I get paid well! I really shouldn't be making more than minimum wage for the work I do there, in all honesty.

MORE BAD NEWS:

I need help, everyone.

I need prayer. I need grace. I need motivation.

As you all know, I just moved home to Yorkville and, already, I am itching to get out of here. Living here is going to be such a trial and I'm going to need to have such an enormous amount of motivation to keep myself going without getting bogged or dragged down.

My mom and stepdad, Bob, hate each other -- a lot. They have both filed for divorce from each other numerous times, but, for some reason, stay together and keep hating each other. My sister, Morgan, is always caught in the middle of it and I pity her.

My mother is an egomaniacal, self-centered, self-serving, sociopathic woman. In spite of her marriage -- a holy vow of loyalty to one spouse made before God Himself (which she has now made four times) -- she has a handful of boyfriends on the side that I know about and who knows how many others that I don't know about. She's not ashamed of her extramarital love life at all -- the other day, she even let me listen to a voicemail that one of her suitors left while he was drunk. "Hey baby -- give me a call back sometime." Why the hell is my mom showing me this??

Last night, I came home from my best friend's, the Jorays, house around 12:30 only to find Mom in the living room, on the phone to one of her boyfriends while her husband was sound asleep upstairs. There are times that she leaves in the middle of the night and doesn't come home until 6 or 7 the next morning.

Then there's Bob -- a lazy, lazy, lazy man who does nothing to help and nothing to better himself. He comes home from work, plops down in his easy chair, reclines it and watches television for the rest of the night. And he doesn't move. He falls asleep in that chair around midnight (with the television still on), wakes up at 7, then watches whatever show is on the channel he fell asleep to until he has to go to work. I leave the house, he is watching TV. I come home and he is still watching TV.

I cannot stay in this toxic environment much longer. If I stay here longer than the summer, I am going to implode. This behaviour is going to chip away and chip away at me until I am reduced to a pile of dust that is whisked away by the faintest wind.

So Long, DeKalb

As promised, I am updating my blog to fill you in on some things you have probably missed unless you are intimately acquainted with me...

. . . .

The most drastic change is my new surroundings. Well, maybe not "new" so much as it is "familiar;" I moved home, last week, to Yorkville, Illinois. Glorious, glorious Yorkville. Everyone knows I lost my job back in January, and it may come as no surprise that I endured the entirety of my six month unemployment benefits period without finding a job. Sure I sent out well over 150 resumes in those six months and only interviewed with three companies, but I just couldn't manage to land a position.

I think, when you're unemployed for six months and have no prospects, it's time to start packing and head home.

A few friends disagreed -- they thought I should stay in DeKalb and "stick it out." Well, that's a nice sentiment and I do appreciate their desire for me to stay around so that we can continue our friendships in a more geographically desirable situation, but I think that "sticking it out" in DeKalb would have ultimately been wildly irresponsible on a few levels:

1) I have a passionate dislike for DeKalb. Sorry, but it's true. Northern Illinois University is a wonderful school and a great campus, but the rest of DeKalb is a hodgepodge mosaic of down and outers, stragglers, rednecks, yuppies and other scary, scary people. The town is run down and has no real cultural hotspot besides The House Cafe (which, I will admit, is fantastic) and a series of bars. I've been wanting to leave DeKalb from the moment I got there. There's absolutely nothing for me there. To have stayed would have been to perpetuate my misery.

2) My understanding is that the unemployment benefits period expires after six months. Two weeks from today will mark the sixth month that I've been unemployed and so, to my understanding, I will stop receiving handouts from the government then. It would be foolish for me to stay in DeKalb when I can't pay my rent nor any of my bills.

3) If I'm going to achieve any of my goals (namely, moving to Ireland, traveling, buying a house, opening up my used bookstore), I'm going to need to save up money. Unfortunately, I cannot think of a career in DeKalb that will enable me to do that whilst paying the outrageous amount for rent I was being charged. Furthermore, living in Yorkville puts me closer to the places where work will be easier to find (Aurora, Naperville, Oswego, Chicago). Living at home, where I have no rent or utilities, will enable me to save exponentially more money than I would have been able to save on my own.

4) It's time to do something different. Retreating to homebase will allow me to gather my thoughts, calm down, get perspective, reorganize, recast my visions and more focus to follow through.

So it is "So long, DeKalb!" Don't hear me wrong -- as excited as I am to be out of that place, it is going to be a strange experience moving home. First and foremost, I am going to miss some of the people I am leaving behind. Inasmuch as I am, in a way, "leaving them behind," I want them all to know that I'm not abandoning nor forsaking my relationships. Just because I live in Yorkville doesn't mean we're not friends anymore. Right? I will have some fond memories of DeKalb, though those memories won't have anything to do with the town itself -- my memories will be of the people that helped me get through the past few years.

And now that I'm home, I will have all the time in the world to reflect on those memories. I've been living here in Yorkville for about five days now.

Things are okay.

Things are decent.

Things are what they are.

I knew going into this that this wasn't going to be a bed of roses, or a walk in the park, or a walk through a bed of roses. I knew that moving back to my chaotic, dysfunctional home would be a challenge -- I knew it would be a dogfight keeping myself motivated to face another day. I am going to need God's grace to be able to make it here. I understand that.

I am hopeful that by strangely looking forward, I will make it through this.

The Importance of Being Cautiously Optimistic

“Cast your bread upon the waters, for after many days you will find it again. 2 Give portions to seven, yes to eight, for you do not know what disaster may come upon the land. 3 If clouds are full of water, they pour rain upon the earth. Whether a tree falls to the south or to the north, in the place where it falls, there will it lie. 4Whoever watches the wind will not plant; whoever looks at the clouds will not reap. 5 As you do not know the path of the wind, or how the body is formed in a mother’s womb, so you cannot understand the work of God, the Maker of all things. 6 Sow your seed in the morning, and at evening let not your hands be idle, for you do not know which will succeed, whether this or that, or whether both will do equally well.” — Ecclesiastes 11:1-6, English Standard Version

* * * * *

About a week and a half ago, I drove to Wheaton, armed with a resume and a cover letter in my holster, to a Christian publishing company called Crossway Publishing — producer of the English Standard Version of the Bible. I was there to meet with someone, anyone, who would talk to me about an open position they had posted on their website; the opening was for a Pre-Press Pagination and Typesetter in their Bible production department – tasks that I have a few years of experience in. I expected to personally hand my application materials to the hiring supervisor, to look that person in eyes and shake that person’s hand, and I wasn’t going to let myself leave until that happened.

The receptionist greeted me, looking over her chic horn-rimmed glasses, and asked what she could help me with. “I’m here to speak with someone in Human Resources — I have a resume I’d like to hand over.”

“Oh, well I can take that for you, if you’d like,” she replied. Gauging the tone she spoke in, it was clear that this Friday was a long one for her and she was itching to clock out.

“Um, well. Look, in all honesty — nothing against you or anything — I’d prefer to speak to someone myself,” I said. “I drove all the way here from DeKalb to meet with someone and I would feel a lot better if I could do that.”

She sighed, consented, handed me a couple of forms and said, “Fill out these application materials and I’ll call Don — it looks like he’s on the phone, but I’ll ask him if he’s willing to meet you.”

Within a few minutes, Don had emerged from his office, we shook hands and I handed him the materials. We chatted for about fifteen minutes and he seemed genuinely impressed with the amount of experience with and my enthusiasm for the position. We shared a couple of laughs, discussed the company, the economy, the job opening, Christianity, shook hands again, exchanged pleasantries and I was on my way and thankful to God for the opportunity to finally talk to someone about a job. I suppose they really were interested in me, because the next day they emailed me an aptitude test (which I struggled through).

Exactly one week later — this past Friday morning — I found myself sitting in an office on the 70th floor of the AON Center — the second tallest building in Chicago – interviewing with two managers for a Production Coordinator position with Schofield Media Group.

Once again, the employers seemed really impressed with my experience and knowledge of the position they have available. I was in their office for about an hour discussing advertising, marketing, the economy, my experience, the company I worked for before, the strength of the company, the incredibly young demographic of the company (I would estimate that 80% of the people I saw that day were under the age of thirty), the excitement of working in the greatest city in the world, we shook hands, exchanged pleasantries and I was shown back to the elevators.

And as the elevator scaled its way down to the ground level with my ears a-poppin’, I was suddenly overcome by my nerves.

Let me tell you the story of how the interview with Schofield came about:

I found the position in a Craigslist advertisement about a week after I lost my job and immediately applied. Their recruiter, Mandy, sent me a reply a couple days later just to let me know they received my resume okay. Just like every other recruiter that’s emailed me a response, I saved her email in a special folder in my inbox called “Mas Importante.” I called her and left a message about a month later, just to ask if the position was still open. I never heard back.

Last Monday, Mandy sent me an email saying, “I finally heard back from my manager and he’s impressed with your resume. If you’re still interested in the position, we’d like to bring you in for an interview this week.” This email came a full two months after I initially applied for the job. After sending Mandy a reply to let her know that I’m definitely still interested, I called my friend Joshua and told him that Schofield had finally written me. He was silent for a few moments, then said, “Wow. That’s really weird because, you know — I’ve been hoping you’d get a job and all, but I never earnestly prayed for you to get a job until yesterday.”

* * * * *

Here’s my dilemma: I don’t know what God desires for my life. Granted, both of these opportunities might not be God’s will for my life. In that event, I’m going to break even and I’ll just wait until the next opportunity. But, what if both companies offer me a position? It’s not that far of a stretch I don’t think — like I said before, they both seemed wildly interested in me.

There are a couple of scenarios I’ve thought out and their antitheses I’d like to share with the jury for their deliberation:

1) God wants me in Wheaton, with Crossway. He is going to honor my longstanding dream of working in publishing and He’s going to put me in a positive, Christian environment so that I can further honor my commitment to deepen my faith and strengthen my walk with Him. Because I’m in Wheaton, I won’t have to move very far from DeKalb (if at all). My new pastor and all of the new friends I’ve amassed by helping to plant The church in DeKalb will be most grateful and I will be more easily able to honor my commitment to becoming more active and involved in the goings-on of the church,

or

2) God doesn’t want me to work in Wheaton. He is going to honor my longstanding dream of moving to The City and He’s going to demand that I step out in faith when it comes to the goings-on of the church. Rather than making my commitment of becoming more active and involved in The church in DeKalb easy on me, He’s going to test me to see if I can honor my commitment when I have to commute an hour and a half every week to church. Furthermore, He is going to use me as a witness in a secular work environment and I am going to make a positive impact for the Kingdom,

or

3) God doesn’t want me in either place and I must continue to wait on Him.

* * * * *

Again, I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself and assume that both companies are going to offer me their respective positions. However, I want to at least be prepared should that event actually happen. Schofield told me they are wanting to make a decision later this week and Crossway informed that they won’t even be interviewing until later this week. So, I don’t want to be in a position, should Schofield offer me the position this week, of me accepting the job, then having Crossway offering me a job next week and having to go to my manager to tell them, “Thanks, but I’ve been offered something else.” Does that make sense? I mean — I’m sure it happens all the time and all, but I’m not that guy. If a company is going to believe in me enough to offer me a position, I want to be able to show my gratitude with a commitment to that company.

Don’t hear me wrong — I’m not being cocky or so self-sure that I believe both companies will offer me their positions. However, I do believe in the importance of being cautiously optimistic.

Where Were We...?

This morning, I woke up the same way I always wake up: slowly, painfully, and with an attitude of regret. I stumbled my way into the bathroom, threw back the shower curtain, started up the water, and, while I waited for it to heat up, I stared at myself in the mirror. The disheveled hair, the bewildered look on my face as I squinted under the bright lights just above the medicine cabinet.

There’s something wrong with the drain in my bathtub — in that it doesn’t drain. It doesn’t matter how much Drano I pour down there or how many times I’ve plunged it, the water will not go down the drain as immediately as it should. So, every morning, I stand in the shower and let the water rise until it’s almost up to my knees, then I turn off the water and dry off. On a positive note, the water accumulation does sort of act like a timer. “That water is up to your knees! Time to towel off and go to work!”

My morning oatmeal is tasteless, at best, but I still eat it. I have a unique way of enjoying my breakfast — I hold the bowl of oatmeal in my left hand and my spoon in my right and I watch cars pull into my office’s parking lot from my living room window. That’s right — I live across the street from my job. What’s nice about it, though, is that I walk across the street and I’m at work.

My work routine is always the same, too. I don’t mean to mimic Office Space or whatever, but a lot of the rituals the main character talks about in his daily work schedule are true to life. Much like him, I spend the first hour of my shift drinking my Earl Grey, checking my emails, and staring at my desk and pretending to be busy. Then, once I tire of listening to my coworker chomp and chew and swallow whatever the hell she’s eating, I put on my headphones and drift into a world of background music.

The entire day is a blur of advertisements, emails, proofs, and post-it notes. At the end of it, I look at the bins to see what I’ve accomplished and I never fail to find that, really, I’ve accomplished nothing. The bins were full when I walk in, the bins are full when I walk out.

Most nights, I go to the gym immediately after work for a couple hours. Then I drive home, surf the Net for a while, watch a few episodes of “How I Met Your Mother” and call it a night, only to be greeted by the rising waters in my tub the next morning.

* * * * *

Today, at work, a few guys and I moved desks around — giant, oak desks. Why? Company didn’t want them anymore. Drawers didn’t slide out all the way and they had scratches and dings on the surface. So we hauled them out to the dumpster. I mean, sure we could have donated them or even put them on the corner and waited for someone to pick them up (which, in this neighborhood, would take all of a few hours), but we just threw them away.

I took one piece of the mighty oak desk, lifted it over my head, and chucked it against the corner of the dumpster so that I could break it into smaller pieces that would better fit inside the dumpster. And as I watched, with much glee, the mighty desk explode into several pieces, something inside me untied, enabling me to leave my life even for just a few seconds so that I could see it for what it really is (or, more accurately, isn’t).

I never thought I’d be here at this point in my life. I know that’s sort of a cliche thing to say and all, but I can’t think of another way to say it. When I was in high school, my future was mapped out. After university, I was going to be married at the ripe age of 23, living in Ireland and working in a coffee shop or going for a Master’s degree. There was no other option for me. I knew what I wanted and I knew all the steps to take to make that happen. The only thing, though, is that dreams seldom match up with reality.

Before you know it, you’re done with University, living alone in a town that you despise with a dead-end job that means nothing to you, and little to no money. The dreams that once shone brilliantly in the front of your mind are still there, but dimming and recessing into the darker corners of your brain over time.

As far as I can tell, Ireland is still there. But it seems like it’s drifting into the horizon.

Granted, I’m only 23. I realize that I still have most (hopefully) of my life ahead of me and that no dream is too far gone. But it’s terribly difficult not to lose faith, not to lose hope, not to lose my grasp of reality and slip into some middle-class, middle-aged, work-induced coma.

All around me at my office I see people who have already fallen victim to that disease. These people who seemingly have nothing to live for anymore because they’re zombies! Staring at their computer screens, staring at their desks, staring at post-it notes, never blinking, never thinking. Everything is boiled down to science and routine. It’s like we’re living in the matrix, to quote an old friend. We’re all plugged into this way of thinking–this… survival mode, if you will. All we’re doing is surviving! We’re not truly living, we’re just barely scraping by! We work and we work and we work and live in these fake, phony professional lives that never add up to anything.

I want out. I want to unplug myself. I want to remember what it’s like to breathe without life support keeping me hanging on.

I want to throw out all the customer proofs that clutter that my office, all the computers, all the printers, all the cubicles, and smash the desk that I cozy up to from 9am-6pm everyday into tiny pieces against the corner of a dumpster and just leave it all.

Then, I will walk across the street back to my apartment, watch a DVD, and write a blog about my shit life. But that’s why I live a shit life, isn’t it?

What else would there be to blog about?