As I clicked my way through the Synod materials sent to me as e-mail attachments and the ELCA materials on the ELCA website. I felt my stress and anxiety levels rising. I noticed my frustration at how difficult it was to navigate it all: was this form named this way actually that form referred to over there? Did I need to sign up here or here and once I did this, why could I not log on again? Did clicking here in this e-mail that I wasn't told would be coming mean that I could get back to the website where I could start to fill in forms? For the record, clicking on the e-mail verification did get me access.
Unlike clicking my way through the Seminary site, my internet ramblings yesterday left me feeling deflated and a bit frightened. I heard that familiar voice in my head, that voice that I have learned to ignore, saying, "Who do you think you are? Why do you think you can do this?" That voice quickly spirals down into all sorts of harsh criticism along the lines of too old, too late, too stupid, too fat, too female, not enough resources, not enough time, not enough, not enough, not enough.
I will ignore that voice. I've gotten good at ignoring that voice. But I wince a bit at how often I've had to ignore that voice, the one that told me I couldn't possibly get into grad school, the one who told me I couldn't write a dissertation, the one that told me to avoid tenure track jobs because I would surely perish in a publish-or-perish job, the one that told me an MFA after getting a PhD wouldn't be worth the effort, the one that told me going after this grant or that grant would be too much effort--I could go on and on. Sometimes I ignored that voice and did the thing anyway. Sometimes I ignored that voice and wished that I had explored an option.
And what makes this all particularly painful is that sometimes, the voice was right, but I can't always be sure. The road not taken remains the road not taken after all--the road that might have changed everything for the better or changed everything for the worse or might have changed nothing.
I think about the books I've been reading about Ignatian spirituality, about the idea of consolation and desolation. To explain it in an overly simple way, if a decision/answer makes one feel inspired and fulfilled, like one is living into one's purpose for life, that one is moving closer to God, it's a decision/answer made in consolation. If it makes one feel otherwise, it's a mark of desolation.
And here's where it gets tricky. One can come to a decision/answer in consolation, but still feel some tinges of desolation as one goes on. I feel like I am seeing that in real time in the past week.
Yesterday, as I started feeling extremely overwhelmed at the candidacy process, I felt this temptation to give up, to sink into my midlife comfort, to listen to that inner voice that hopes I can make it to retirement with a full-time salary and benefits package.
I reminded myself of the wisdom that I found in one of the books, that I can't find again right now, the wisdom that says not to let a decision made in a spirit of consolation come undone when one enters a period of desolation.
I am familiar with this cycle, although I usually experience it over the course of months or years, not over just a few days.
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