Real Life (or something like it)

I.
"This is your real life, Bean. What are you going to do with it?"
When Mike asked me this question, I thought these were my options:

1. Fly a kite.
2. Buy a home. Have babies. Provide a nice life for them. Love Mike and our babies till my teeth fell out.
3. Quit my job. Hole up and write feverishly for days/weeks/months/years. Write something memorable. Make my mom proud. Get interviewed by Ellen. Dance with Ellen, after which she will say, "Wow, you're a great dancer! I like you. Those are nice earrings!"

At the time, my answer was b, although I dreamed of (coveted) c on a daily basis. Since then, I've learned that there was another option:

1. All of the above. Yes, really—or something like it.

I just couldn't see it. I thought I had to pick one option and stick with it forever, which is why I felt stuck. And being stuck—or even just feeling stuck—is terrible.
I should rewind to explain how I got there (that place called stuck).

II.

Setting: The not-so-distant past.

When you're young, you feel invincible. You truly believe you can do anything you set your mind to. You dream lofty dreams and make plans to chase them. Some people actually do (and those people inspire me).

Me?

When I graduated, I needed a job that would pay for health insurance; that's what it boiled down to.

I was sick and needed to see several doctors so I had to find some way to make it happen. In college, I'd dreamt of chasing the poor-but-romantic "writerly" life. I wanted to see my name in print! I wanted to write stories about people and real life! I wanted to write about my mom's childhood in Cambodia, the war, her experiences in the refugee camp, coming to America. I felt I was born to write about her life! My last project in college was a screenplay that captured everything from skinning eels as a girl to watching Superman in black in white for the first time. I even imagined myself giving an acceptance speech for best new screenplay (or whatever), during which I would thank God, my parents, Mike Fox, and Laurie Weeks—my favorite writing professor.

I put those dreams on a shelf (for some day, I said) and got a big-girl job in a glass building with windows that didn't open. I got my own cubical, my own badge, my own stapler. I got the health insurance I so desperately needed and sought treatment to get well. I was financially independent. I was a responsible adult!
Every now and then, I would take my dreams off the shelf, dust them off, and hold them in my hands. I'd whisper softly to them, telling them I hadn't abandoned them—that I still loved them—before putting them back on the shelf for safe keeping.

Mike and I saved up our hard-earned money and paid for our wedding. Life was (still is) great. But living a "writerly" life looks different after you get married. I no longer wanted to spend all my time alone writing my break-out novel/screenplay/memoir. I wanted to spend all my time with Mike (and I did). We talked about our future home and future babies and what our life would look like; without realizing it, I spent more time entertaining those dreams while my own collected dust on the shelf. I took them out to breathe and stretch their legs on occasion but didn't spend much time playing with them like I used to. In truth, I felt guilty for trapping them, for keeping them tightly sealed in a jar on the highest shelf. I tried to explain it to them gently but I think it was more for my sake than theirs.

"Now is just not the right time. We're saving for a house and our future babies. But don't worry—I haven't forgotten about you. Your time will come, too. Just be patient."

But when those plans looked up at me with sad, puppy-dog eyes, I couldn't return the gaze. You know why?

I was afraid.

If I let them out and follow them wherever they may go, will I get lost? Will I lose them? What if I fail?

Instead of finding answers to my questions, I ignored them and focused on work.

Like most plans, ours required a steady income, so while I didn't find my job inspiring or fulfilling, I persevered. I told myself God had great plans for my life that looked different from the life I was living. I considered my time in the cubical farm a temporary stint.

But work was rough. I didn't understand corporate politics or "double-speak". (Why don't people just say what they mean?) I didn't understand why people didn't speak the truth. I didn't understand how or why people could want to "teach you a lesson" by sabotaging your projects. For the first time, I had to engage and interact with people who did not like me. It was all new and exciting in a bad way. At first, I screamed,

"GOD! GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

That didn't get the type of reaction I was looking for so I tried to change up my game plan by praying the "right" prayers, the kind that start with, "God, I'm thankful for my job…but—" I prayed for God to change my heart attitude toward my work and everything that ate me up inside. I manufactured a good attitude when I felt rotten, when the bitterness made my mouth taste bad, like when you drink orange juice after you've brushed your teeth. And when I was tired of praying the "right" prayer, when I was tired of crying, I allowed myself to indulge in (and roll around in) an attitude of entitlement.

"I'm better than this! (Aren't I?) Is this what You planned for me? This is the story You wrote for my life? Because I'm sorry—it's boring."

I know—I've got a lot of nerve. But I was frustrated with work! I felt like no matter how many hours I worked or how hard I tried, I couldn't stay on top of it. I struggled to stay afloat. I cried almost every week. I was physically exhausted. stressed out. emotionally drained. close to hopeless. It was stealing the best parts of me.

It left nothing for Mike.

It would leave nothing for my future-babies.

And if there was nothing left for my family, what was left for my dreams?

In my heart I said, this has to be a temporary thing. There has to be more to life than this. Aloud, I said the right things. I said I knew God had a plan for me. I said the purpose of my whole existence might be to work at my job for the rest of my life. I said the sum of my entire existence could be a conversation I might have with someone, a conversation that might introduce that person to Jesus. And I was okay with that.

But I wanted more, and sooner rather than later.

So I started to pray—fervently at first—and wait for an answer. I said I was waiting for any answer but my heart hoped for the answer I wanted.

I prayed. I waited. I worked. I cried. I shook my fist at my laptop and yelled expletives. I complained. I stopped praying. I apologized for complaining and for being ungrateful for God's gifts. Repeat.

It was exhausting.

I explored my options. I updated my resume. I thought of how much stuff I'd have to pack on my last day. I thought all the things I would be able to do for God once I'd left my current job.

It was after weeks of mind-numbing whining and discontent that Mike asked me the question I did not want to ask myself:

"This is [my] real life. What [am I] going to do with it?"

I didn't have an answer for him. Not then.

"What do you think would make you happy? What's your dream job?"

This is what I blurted out:

Something that involves writing. Something that allows me to be creative. I want to touch peoples' lives. I want to bring them joy. I want a job that will allow me to provide for our family. I want to be available for my children. I want to write meaningful stories. I want to do something that I can be proud of. At the end of our lives, I want God to be excited to talk to me about my life.

And as Mike explored my options and helped me see what I needed to do to make these things happen, I realized that in some way, I already had everything I wanted.

Most importantly, I saw that I had everything I needed at this point in my life.

I just had a bad attitude (also known as a "bat-titude"), too.

OH.

III.

Setting: Right now

My real life right now looks like a corporate job that allows me to save for our future home. And I can say that it is good for right now because Mike is right—this is my real life right now.

My job allows me to be friends with my co-workers. It allows me to send e-mails that are ridiculous, creative, and almost too silly for the work place. It allows me to come home and write words that remind me of life, and living, and living a life that pleases God, and what it looks like to make mistakes and still be loved by God. While the stuff I write here (in this blog) might never get me a spot on Ellen's couch, it helps me share stories and meet people and make new friends.

And I think God is pleased with that.

At least it's a step in the right direction. I know He is working on my heart and is writing my story. Since then—the not-so-distant-past—I have taken my dreams off that highest shelf and let them roam freely around our small apartment. Sure, I was upset they chewed through cables and peed in my favorite mustard-yellow flats, but I'm happy they're back where they belong: with Mike and me.

I now know that my real life right now includes my dreams. I just have to ask God to show me where they fit in.

He has done more than that: He has surrounded me with people who, in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, are chasing their dreams. Through these precious friends,

He shows me what it looks like to overcome financial "limitations" and frail, broken bodies in the pursuit of living a full, rich, joy-centered life.

He shows me what it looks like to have faith that moves mountains.

He shows me what it looks like to cast off doubt and ignore naysayers.

He shows me what it looks like to step forward in courage. And faith. And hope.

He shows me what it looks like to love LIFE—to pursue dreams because He gave them to us.

He has shown me much through these friends of mine. It has been eye-opening and humbling and awe-
inspiring. Because I thought our great big God didn't care about my dreams (silly me). I thought He was too busy saving the rest of our planet! I thought our great big God was not bigger than my fear and doubt and obstacles.

Seriously—silly me.

Some parts of this dream-chasing business are still very new to me. I'd be lying through my big teeth if I said I wasn't scared. I am terrified of failing. But this real life is so short! I think I've wasted enough time whining and complaining and entertaining doubts and making up (weak) excuses.

So here's to chasing dreams, because if I don't, they'll pee in all of my shoes.

IV.

This is what my options look like now:

1. Muster up the courage to touch a sea anemone. (Gross.)
2. Host another supper club meeting. Play board games with friends. Laugh till I get cramps in my cheeks. Make memories.
3. Live adventurously!
4. Hopefully buy a house soon. Create a home. Start a family. Make memories.
5. Write down the stories that emerge along the way (and share them).

Will you share your dreams and stories with me?