I spent my day teaching and my entire night filing paperwork that got dropped on me today, which is due before the break as well as preparing two lectures for tomorrow's classes. I have stacks and stacks of papers that need to be graded and filed into student files, but I won't make it there tonight.
In some ways, teaching is the most unrewarding job ever. You're never done. Never. There's always something to grade, some paperwork to file, some lecture to prepare, some student e-mail to respond to. You spend the days teaching and your nights grading. Students don't care about learning even if you try to make it fun and informal. They see college in consumeristic terms; I bought the course, so give me a passing grade. And then if the teacher doesn't give them the best "customer service" (i.e. the customer is always right) then they get upset. Don't get me wrong - I DO love the people I work with. I could not ask to be in a better place, and I feel VERY blessed that I even have a job at all. But in terms of what I was meant to do, I'm not so sure if this was what God had picked out for me.
Most days I wonder if I'm in the right vocation. I do a decent job, but I really don't think I was cut out to be a teacher. I don't love it; I don't hate it. I'm just kind of like "meh, whatever." Don't get me wrong, there are moments when I walk away feeling good about it, but more often than not, I could really care less. I just became a teacher because that's what everyone said I should do, and my teachers told me I did well in English (that is subjectively, of course, when compared to my peers). That's pretty much been the story of my life. I just do whatever people tell me to because it would be good for me. Converting to Catholicism was something most people told me not to do, and it was probably the first thing I ever truly did for me, and the best thing I've done in my life so far.
Then I see things like my old thesis director has published a new book, and my heart sinks a little. Not because I'm jealous, but because I'm mad at myself for not trying harder or being more talented because that's what I really wanted to be when I grew up - I wanted to be a writer. But since my thesis, I can't even bring myself to read a book, much less pick one up or to try to write a story. Somehow, all the words have flown away from my head, and I feel as if I'll never get them back. Still, there is this deep, abiding desire to write. I find myself longing for my word processor but unable to face it.
I couldn't tell you if being a writer is my vocation. All I know is it's something I've wanted to do since I was young. I've been writing since I was thirteen. It seems to be all I know. And yet the whole thing seems so absolutely hopeless. Every time I sit myself down to write, I stare at a blinking cursor. I type, delete, retype, delete, and finally, shut down the computer because I think "I have no stories to tell anymore."
On a separate but related note, I feel guilty I haven't made it to the past two lenten retreats, but it seems like work is taking over my life. I totally spaced out on adoration tonight because I was filing paperwork. And I feel spiritually spent from this retreat. Joshua and I are pretty sure I'm ADD (no, seriously. I just refuse to go to the doctor because I don't want to take medicine), so sitting still for an hour for me is complicated enough without all of work bearing down on me. I just want spring break to get here, so I can be a vegetable, do nothing, think about nothing, but I know this is not a healthy attitude. I could probably have avoided this whole pitfall had I been keeping myself up spiritually, but sometimes, it's hard. I'm so easily distracted and discouraged.
But most of all, I have to wonder, if I'm the easily distracted type, is this he-who-shall-not-be-named's way of getting at me? If I really desire to be a writer, is all this other junk that's being thrown at me a diversionary tactic preventing me from finish the retreat? Are outside forces making me feel incompetent as a writer when I know I'm not?
Miss O'Connor, what would you tell me? I'm sure you're in Heaven, and if ever there were a patron saint of short story writers, it would be you. (SN: if you've never read Flannery O'Connor, you should. She is a prominent 20th century fiction writer from Georgia and a staunch Catholic with an amazing background).
And in my heart and head I feel this: Do not make decisions in desolation. Tonight I will ask God for forgiveness for being a slacker of a Catholic and letting Him down in so many ways these past couple of weeks. I will give all my sorrows about my vocation to him, not to complain, but to ask for support because I am spiritually weak and spent. I will resolve to do better in the coming weeks with His help. I will thank Him for all He has done and continues to do for me. And I will go to sleep, wake up, and try again tomorrow.
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