Letting go of my dream isn’t something I thought I would ever consider.
Over the weekend, I had a meltdown, though. I got to the middle of my Saturday and realized I’ve been spending my life in one place while the whole time I’m longing to be somewhere else.
That sounds awful, doesn’t it? It feels awful. It’s like I’m in prison—trapped behind walls made of my own hopes and dreams. The hopes and dreams aren’t bad, but me sitting with my arms crossed and my lip out because I need to do the laundry instead of soar with the eagles is killing me.
John Lennon said, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making plans.”
I’ve been doing that. I’ve been wishing away my here and now so I could get to my future.
I cannot tell you how many lists I’ve made. How I’ve calculated my days to the minute so I could have time to write. I’ve accounted for every part of my life, filling spaces with my plans for my future to make my dream come true.
And it’s all been in the name of my calling.
Knowing your calling is a blessing, a gift. But learning to balance that gift with the life you’ve been given … well, that’s not so easy. I would write all the time. Lock myself away and write, write, write. I love it. And I know God has gifted me and called me to write.
But he’s also told me to stop.
He’s asked something of me I hadn’t expected– to lay it down, to look people in the eye and listen when they talk, to be 100% right where I am, and to stop wishing away my moments.
I’ve been fighting him on this. I don’t even know what this stopping looks like. I’ve spent the last 8 years pursuing my dream. I have lived and breathed writing. Every spare moment, every day, whenever I can, I write. Seriously, it’s like I’m a writing junkie.
And the ugly truth is my dream — this calling — has eclipsed love. Oh sure, I can say I’m doing it because I love God and people and want to bring him glory and help others, but I’m starting to think that’s just what I’m telling myself so I don’t feel bad about ignoring people.
So, I’m stopping my madness. Slowing down. Being disciplined (the sit-in-a-corner kind). I cried the first few days, but now all I feel is thankfulness. I can’t even explain it or what will happen, but I can say without hesitation that I’m freer today than I was a week ago. It’s a good thing. A very good thing. And I don’t know what’s next, but I guess for now I don’t need to. This little warrior is handing over her sword and taking a day at a time.
And when you talk to me, I’ll be listening, looking you in the eye, and caring. (And I promise I’ll let you know before I use you in a story.)