The search for a noble cause

My grandpa was the kind of guy who looked at his retirement home as a death march. He hated bingo and probably wanted to start an underground fight club at Wynnfield Crossing, just like the valiant old men in tonight’s episode of Private Practice. My grandpa boxed back in the day. He also fought in World War II, hopped trains out West in hopes of making it into the movies, survived the Depression, started several businesses throughout his lifetime, fathered six children and loved my grandma and his children with his whole being.

My grandma went to college at a time when women didn’t much care about higher education. She moved from her small Indiana town to L.A. and then Chicago, much to her parents’ disapproval. She too survived the Depression, gave birth to six children, supported my grandpa in his ventures, and committed herself to her family.

It’s no wonder, then, that I turned out the way I did. Heck, if I have to claim my grandma’s bunions, I’m going to also stake claim in her adventurous attitude and “I don’t care if it’s never been done before” mentality. I’m also going to claim my grandpa’s entrepreneurial spirit and iron-clad commitment. Some seem to think those two qualities don’t mix well, but my sanity is banking on the chance that they do.

I just received notification that I’ve been invited to interview for a New York City teaching fellowship. It’s an impressive fellowship, not to mention somewhat selective, but I find myself hesitating because moving to New York would just add one more location to the laundry list of places I’ve lived in the past four years. Will my family members roll their eyes and start a collection for therapy? (I’d take it if they did.) Will my friends stop being supportive of my vagabond nature? Will I one day end up like Chris McCandless, wandering in the wilderness and losing all perspective on what life’s really about purely because I tried so hard to figure out what life’s really about?

I’ll continue contemplating all of the above, but, for now, I know that corporate America is not my home. Helping form the life of an underprivileged, inner-city New York student who is trying to master the English language in a foreign land? Now that seems like a noble cause. For now, I’ll continue to pray that God will take my hand and lead me in his direction.

Remembering me

Today’s a big day for me. It’s the first day after the end of a two-and-a-half year relationship. I’m of marrying age, so I thought I would see this as a waste of a decent-sized portion of my life. However, by the grace of God, I see it as I should–part of the learning process of life.

I’m not sure when life became so complicated, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I step up to the challenge of complication. I remember when I used to date boys based upon their Abercrombie clothing, or uber-gelled hairstyle. Now the make-or-break issues have turned into potential mothers-in-law and religion. The ability to provide and the desire to commit. I’ve grown tired of introspection and retelling the break-up story to friends and family. But more than that, I’m tired of breaking up with myself for guys who aren’t strong enough to do it on their own. 

I’d love to have an in-depth discussion with the man who clandestine-style taught a top-secret class to 20-something men across the nation about “getting their ducks in a row” before they decide to start a family. I’m positive that he stressed the importance of getting ahead in business before loving a woman. America’s Greatest Generation may soon get up out of its coffins and try to teach what’s left of this country about the commitment of love and the importance of family.  Love doesn’t get put on hold for a career. Tragically, it dies a certain death.

But just because love dies,  does not mean I do with it. Quite the contrary: I feel like I’m alive again. I already remember parts of me that I forgot along the way. And I’m going to keep remembering me until I’m whole again. I’m going to make friends with whomever I’d like–male or female. I’m going to attend the church right down the road that I think I truly always wanted to attend. I’m going to watch a few movies that never made it through the compromise stage.  I’m going to talk too much to a perfect stranger. I’m even going to reinstate the phone numbers of male friends who got axed along the way. Most importantly, though, I’m going to write.