time for a career change

This is an entry I have been trying to write for months. Maybe longer. I have attempted the words, crafted the sentences, re-read the statements and arrived again and again at the same conclusion: this is not good writing and I am not a good person. I typically got no more than a paragraph into the subject before deciding to stop and change it, and then came the familiar “tap, tap, tap” of that Godsend of a key in the upper right corner: delete, delete, delete. Even now, as I sit determined to get this out, there is a lot of staring, a lot of delaying, and still, a lot of deleting...

Subject: disingenuousness. Object: me. By the way, sorry for using the word “disingenuousness.” I am not trying to be stuffy, it just is the only vocabulary that really fits here.

The problem with me, my writing, the subject, and the culmination of all three of those things is that I have been writing for you, for an audience. I have been writing so that you like it. And what has happened as a result is that I haven’t at all been able to write truthfully about my shortcomings. I have been writing so that you will think I’m honest but still an ok person, safe enough to babysit your kids and maybe even cool enough to have coffee with.

And then, I stumbled upon the profoundly simple words of the always reliable Henri Nouwen—and my reflection on these words is changing something in my heart…

“For as long as you can remember, you have been a pleaser, depending on others to give you an identity. You need not look at that only in a negative way. You wanted to give your heart to others, and you did so quickly and easily. But now you are being asked to let go of all these self-made props and trust that God is enough for you. You must stop being a pleaser and reclaim your identity as a free self…”

And all God’s people said, “Amen.”

Or not, but I definitely did.

My life’s complex discontent is captured in what Nouwen said: “You are being asked to let go of your self-made props and trust that God is enough for you.” What a fitting word-picture “props” gives, because the Katie Theater has been stockpiling the back stage of my life for twenty-six years with props. There are the collections of masks I put on for different people, categorized most typically by who that person is and who I want them to think I am. There is the scenery I put out when I want everyone to see how beautifully put together my life is, furniture and décor placed accordingly. And then, perhaps the most often used prop of all: the seasonal backdrop. I could be in the middle of a long, cold, wintry season of darkness, but in an instant I can bring down the sunny background and make everyone watching my life think it is the middle of summer: happy, bright, full of adventure. I am ashamed to admit how helpful my props have been at helping me act my way through so much of my life. I am ashamed that I am far more concerned about my performance than the true and real state of my heart.

And after months of living with this palpable sense of discontent, after deeply feeling the highs and lows that naturally come when your goal is the of the approval of others, I am ready to abandon the acting career.

I do not want to live feeling any less than fully genuine. I do not want to spend my time caring, worrying, stressing about the things that very often consume the better part of my day: Am I pretty? Am I fit enough? Are my clothes ok? Am I a good writer? Do you like me? I just want Jesus to be enough for me. And truly, I want the opinions of others to matter only so much as they point me to the Cross, to Grace, and to stillness before Him.

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So, after many attempts at articulating some things about myself that I have been afraid to say, to put permanently on paper, and to share, I am still not completely pleased with the production. But I’m not hopping on this treadmill anymore. Anne Lamott says, “I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won’t have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren’t even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they’re doing it.” Thank you, Anne, I needed that.

Here’s to a life fully genuine, fully committed to the people you love, fully savoring the beauty in people and places, fully laughing at the messiness we can create, fully devoted to fixing what is broken, and fully honoring to the Creator and Sustainer of it all. He is the only audience in our theater, anyway.