Captain

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A life's work is not a series of stepping-stones onto which we calmly place our feet, but more like an ocean crossing where there is no path, only a heading, a direction, which, of itself, is in conversation with the elements. Looking back for a sense of reference, we see the wake we have left as only a brief, glimmering trace on the waters.

David Whyte ~ Crossing the Unknown Sea: Work as a Pilgrimage of Identity

Just over ten years ago I finished my PhD in linguistics and began applying for lecturer jobs because that's what you do when you finish a PhD. I had no success for a long time, and then I got an interview for a one-year position at a university in northern England. I did not want to be a lecturer. I did not want a one-year position. I did not want to live in that particular town. I didn't want any of it. But I had just completed my PhD and it was my only interview, and that's what you do when you finish a PhD, you try to get on the academic ladder.
When the morning of the interview came, I got up, walked to the bathroom, looked in the mirror and thought about the job, and fainted on the bathroom floor. When I woke up, well, I sort of fell to bits. I wasn't nervous, I wasn't sick. It was as if my body was trying to get me to stop and listen, to prevent me from pursuing this job that no part of me or my soul wanted. And yet still I didn't listen. I got up, got dressed, and snuffled my way out the door, boots that I'd forgotten to zip up flapping about my ankles. I got to the train station and it wasn't until a few paces from the ticket counter that I finally, finally decided not to go to the interview. I told them I had food poisoning and I slept for the entire morning.
I rescheduled the interview for a few days later and I did go, but by then I had decided I didn't want the job but would use the interview to practice my interview technique. They'd clearly already decided too, so that was that. I did other things.
***
Last week, ten years later, I withdrew my application for the full-time pastor position at my church. I  completed a ThM in Theology last year, have subbed for some pastor tasks while he was on sabbatical, have had quite a few people encourage me to apply. I've been looking for a theologically-related job for a year. A friend said, maybe it's like that story when the man drowns because he doesn't recognize the helping hand when it's offered.
But as the interview date approached, I felt a familiar feeling of resistance and my gut told me it wasn't the right thing for me. What's more, I realized I had heard that voice all the way along, but it was only when facing down an interview that it got loud enough to hear. What's more, it wasn't a voice motivated by fear at its core - certainly there were aspects of the job that made me nervous, but it sounded to me like a true voice, my own voice rather than the voice of those around me.
I'm still able to contribute at church if I want to, for one thing, and the church is pretty much my entire support system in Canada - I literally couldn't function healthily if those relationships shifted and became weird. And I still feel somewhat drawn to work in higher education in some capacity. Actually I'm still figuring out all the 'whys' of the decision but I knew enough - I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I shouldn't proceed with the full-time pastor application. It's a strange thing to be so certain that a Good and Helpful Job is not right for you, to weigh duty against calling. It's fiendishly hard for me to go against the well-meaning affirmation of people I respect. It's challenging to balance soul health with financial health. It's extremely difficult to discern when, and how far, to push yourself, and when to honour your weaknesses as well as your strengths. We all make our own choices with all these factors; we do the best we can, and we make our own peace with our decisions.

So five days before the interview date I sent an email and withdrew my application. I'll do other things (or that thing a different way). It would seem that over the space of ten years I have gained five days' worth of wisdom. I'm still broke, but my soul is happy, and hopeful. I'll take it.

Incline your ear, and come to me;

listen, so that you may live.

Isaiah 55:3

image by me

(This is what happens when you paint while listening to Chandelier by Sia on repeat.)