Thanks for writing, Sister Morgan. I'm tired of being a goldfinch, but I'm scared to try my wings.
In Iceland when pufflings learn to fly, they jump off a high cliff. If they're lucky, they flutter into safe ocean. Too often, though, they confuse the shimmering lights of the city with the moon's reflection on the water, and they dive into a sea of hungry cats and dogs.
If I jump, where will I land? I've planned ahead for my entire life. I had my ninth birthday party planned three months before my birthday. In fifth grade I learned the magic of list-making on dry erase boards. Since then, I've planned every hour of my day and sketched out goals months in advance. I'm supposedly "commencing" the next part of my life. My parents, in-laws, and teachers act so excited about my graduation, but I just don't know what to feel excited about. Jason and I don't even have jobs, let alone professions. I'm not a mom, so I have no reason to be a homemaker. Thanks to student teaching, I feel like I've sentenced myself to the public school system. I don't know where I even want to land, and without a goal in mind, how can I jump?
Instead I am the goldfinch. I busy myself with dishes and emails, read fairytales, and avoid thinking. I search for new apartments looking for a place to belong as the new "graduated" us. I go through the motions of applying for jobs, but I might not get one. And if I do, will I sign a contract binding myself to it?
I can't name my fear. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't feel like growing up unless it's to be a mom, and that's at least 9 months away. And what can you do in 9 months anyway? You can't sign a contract.
2 comments:
Meghan. I am so glad I worked at the writing center before you left; I miss you being there. You know what would be cool? If the pufflings did land in the sea of claws and bad breath, they fought back. I don't know if they ever do that in Iceland.
Last night I was driving to Rexburg from Rigby, and coming onto the off ramp, I glanced at the moon which looked like it was gazing full-faced at the temple. The moon hovered just to the right and so close to the Angel Moroni, I wanted to take a picture. The closer I got to the temple, I lost the moon and the wonderful orientation I originally saw. But I drove around, trying to find a way to get that great view again. I couldn't, but I learned a few things along the way (like when my location changes, so does my view), and had fun chasing after a perfect temple-moon picture. I lost a little sleep time, but it was worth it. I think it's okay if we might get distracted or temporarily deceived by the moon. But I don’t know much.
When you do try your wings, I hope you feel more like the Cardinal—or whichever bird you choose.
Thanks, Katie, for responding. You're so sweet. I think I just needed some girl time to talk things out. Husbands struggle at that. I'm glad you were there. What are your plans for this summer? I can't remember when you go to the MTC.
I went to the Idaho Falls temple visitor's center yesterday with Kristen Meisberger, who used to work at the WC with me before our missions. I didn't realize how much I needed that trip. Just sitting at the Savior's feet and listening to His voice tell me to have faith and courage put my thoughts into perspective, even if it was only a seven foot statute and recording. The spirit was real. We watched a video about the pioneers at Kirtland, and that helped me realize how blessed we are. I feel peaceful and grateful now instead of entitled to something bigger and better. I'm glad that it's okay to get distracted for awhile, so long as we get back on track. And I sure hope when we fly we feel more like the Cardinal too. One line President Monson said in conference has constantly nudged me these two weeks: "Your future is as bright as your faith."
You have a bright future, Katie. We all do, I think. Thanks again.
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