(I realize now that the title of this post makes it seem like I've invited you to a great big pity party. To be clear, that isn't what's going down. I hate pity parties.)
Don't count your chickens before they hatch.
How many times have we been told this phrase, or an offshoot of this phrase? How many times have we counted on something to pan out...that didn't? How many of us had a minor panic attack because the thing we'd been assuming would occur because we wanted it to didn't go the way we planned or didn't go at all?
For a long time, I was a Pre-Hatch Chicken Counter (PHCC). I'd have these plans, these lists, these expectations.The plans were simple, crisp, no-nonsense. Impossible to screw up (according to me). So after writing out these impenetrable and extremely thorough plans, whether they were mental notes or scrawled onto a calendar or agenda, I would make more plans. Plans about what would happen after my first, foundational plans worked out.
Anyone else see the cliff I'm speeding toward?
These plans varied. They could be about something as surface level as a list of "What to Pack for Vacation," or a soul-bearing saga called "What am I Doing with My Life?". Dinner parties planned around particular groceries that were named on a separate list (and had yet to be bought), professional milestones planned out before the stepping stone goals were accomplished, etc. If something could be planned, I planned it. If something could be planned as a successor to the original plan, I plannned it. Everything was great. Screw that old saying.
Fast forward to a few years ago.
Imagine a fresh-faced college graduate (this is me). A fresh-faced college graduate with, in addition to a Bachelor's in English and a Master's in Curriculum and Instruction, the foolish expectation that principals in schools all over Texas are waiting by their computers, phones, and secretaries for the moment I send them my resume or stop by for an interview. Ha. As if I was the only one applying for a job. Here is what my life looked like from March - August of 2010:
Resumes sent. Applications tirelessly filled out. Phone calls phone calls phone calls. Waiting. Interview. No word back. Follow up emails follow up emails follow up emails. More resumes sent. Waiting. More applications. Waiting. Word back on first interview: sorry, we need people with experience. More resumes. More applications. Follow up emails follow up emails follow up emails. Waiting. Interview. No word back. Phone calls phone calls phone calls. Word back on second (third, fourth) interview: sorry, we need people with experience. Resumes. Applications. We're actually not hiring. Sorry. sorry. sorry. Cue panic.
Despite the fact that I planned how the application, interview, and acceptance of a job process would go; despite the fact that I had already figured out where I would live in each of the cities I'd applied to; despite the fact that I ignorantly assumed (like I'd been doing my whole life) that these plans were fool-proof; I was so sure things would work out according to my plans. They were written down, afterall. Who cares that the country is experiencing the worst economic decline since The Great Depression, I've had my life figured out for awhile now. So what if teachers aren't quitting or retiring or transfering because jobs are so hard to secure? Planning is enough...isn't it? I'm an expert planner, so I don't need to concern myself with any possibilities that stray from my agenda.
Needless to say, I Pre-Hatch Chicken Counted myself into a mass of flesh and stress.
To give you an idea of what those few months looked like, it was a combination of indignation that I'd have to substitute teach (the horror!), outraged that I'd have to continue living at my (generous) parents' house until I could make & save some money (because God forbid people would find out), and a mixture of self pity and self loathing that I couldn't land a job despite copious planning (Failure, party of one?).
I could go into all the details of my anxiety and growing pains throughout those five months, but I think those two paragraphs above sum it up pretty well. Plus, remembering just how self-absorbed and prideful I was makes my heart hurt a little bit. Ok, a whole lot.
The point of my story is this: it doesn't matter how much we plan. It doesn't matter how well-intentioned our planning may be. It doesn't matter that we're convinced we'll die a little inside if our plans don't work out. It doesn't matter who we are or how grand our plans. It doesn't matter if our plan is short-term (to make it through high school & the drama that feeds upon everyone inside), or if our plan is long-term (to be a surgeon who will save countless lives). We could take all the right steps, precautions, & prerequisites & still not get what we want when we want it. And that has nothing to do with us doing something wrong, but everything to do with the fact that outside factors are beyond our control. Sometimes stuff happens that we can't avoid or ignore; sometimes stuff threatens or prevents our goals, regardless of how many years we've been dreaming them up. What matters is our response to those threats. Do we crumple because our sensitive, Pre-Hatch Chicken Counting heart wasn't prepared for adversity? Be stronger than I was. Be steadfast in reaching what you hope for. Just because something doesn't work out when you want it to, doesn't mean you'll never get it or don't deserve it. It means you have to adjust. Be flexible. Work on a different approach, perhaps.
My story has turned out prety well so far. After I got over myself and realized my plans were narrow & that it was pointless to sit & wallow in a thick pool of if onlys, I got an attitude adjustment. I realized I wasn't in control. I realized that my options were A) get off my butt & do something, or B) continue sitting on the couch feelng sorry for myself & holding a grudge against the economy. Thank the Lord I chose option A. Thanks to Him, I was reminded of a different saying: whatever you do, do it well.
I subsitute taught all of Fall semester, student taught all of Spring semester, and was offered the best job in the world the next school year. I learned to appreciate my parents' graciousness of allowing me to live at home, learned to be flexible, and apologized to them a lot. Looking back, the transformative process was kind of beautiful.
I still have a long ways to go in this department. I still have days where I feel the stress and panic rising up in my throat whenever an idea or plan or goal doesn't go the way I expected it to. But the difference is that now, I go into problem solving mode. Flexibility mode.
We can overcome a lot more than we think we can. Our hearts are stronger than we realize.
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