Because I’m not a typical blogger, I refuse to update you on just how hectic life has recently become now that baby Boaz/Clementine/(insert absurd millennial baby name here) is teething and avocados are no longer in season and my judgmental mother-in-law doesn’t approve of my homemade deodorant even though it’s vegan and gluten free.
Because I’m not a typical Vanderbilt student, I refuse to update my Facebook status declaring how #blessed and honored I am to have accepted my dream position at my dream summer job eight months before it starts.
However, because I am a self-centered and success-driven sinner, I am going to update those who care to read on about how much my self-worth depends on my performance and how God has recently used my failure for his glory. Mmm. No I will try not to do that. Rather than focus on my own life and weave God into it where convenient, I will, instead, attempt to explain the Lord’s faithfulness through my own failures and frustrations.
But first, back to me. (I told you I was self-centered.) Here’s a thing about me: I’m really bad at failing. Now before you roll your eyes at how pompous that sounds (and I roll mine right along with you), I must explain why I’m bad at failing, because it’s not because I’m really good at succeeding.
Failure requires trying something when success is not guaranteed. I like success. Success is comfortable and happy. However, in order to ensure success, we must think pretty small and very rarely can we venture outside of a miniscule bubble of opportunities and situations. If we want to ensure success, we can’t possibly share our honest thoughts and feelings with others because we may fail to get the response from them that we expect. We can’t try new activities that seem fun because we will probably fall down the first time (or even hundred times) we try them. We definitely can’t create new things because chances are, they won’t work.
Opening ourselves up to failure requires vulnerability, a concept that makes me shake in my boots (Or Chacos rather. I suppose I haven’t worn boots since like March). (Disclaimer: this page is in no way sponsored by Chacos or any other related brands.) I’m pretty bad at allowing myself to be exposed to the unknown and risk the rejection I so fear. So my previous statement regarding myself and failure (reference paragraph 4, sentence 2) has much more to do with the fear of rejection that runs so rampantly through me than any skill or accomplishment I may claim.
So back to failing: it’s something I’ve been doing quite a bit of lately, much to my pretentious chagrin. One way this failure has pretty tangibly manifested itself has been through my summer job search. This semester, I applied to no less than 45 jobs and internships, ranging from prestigious positions at well-known international companies to the produce department at the local Whole Foods. (And yes, I was rejected from a job at a grocery store. I have an abundance of legitimate experience but that's an issue for another day.) I made several appointments with my career counselor, aggressively emailed a number of people I don’t know very well, and did an embarrassing amount of LinkedIn and Twitter stalking. And, it seemed, to no avail.
From January to May, I collected email after quasi-sympathetic email (I have since created a folder of them for perusal any time in the future when my ego starts to swell) thanking me for my interest but alerting me that a different candidate’s qualifications align more completely with the job’s requirements. I have included screenshots of snippets of some of my favorite rejection emails below; you know, the really personal ones that show you how much the company truly cares.
When I returned home in the middle of May, I felt rather disenchanted with and betrayed by my academic and professional pursuits. For years, it had been drilled into my head that an engineering degree would get me any job I wanted and that being a woman in STEM made me a hot commodity any company would do anything to acquire. Yet there I was, with a head full of knowledge and an inbox full of "we thank you for your interest but unfortunately...".
My frustration and disillusionment turned into me blaming just about everyone around me, including myself, for my failure. Why didn’t anyone want me? Why did my parents and high school teachers tell me to go into engineering? Why didn’t the engineering school help me more? As I wallowed in self-pity and continued to focus my time and energy on my frustration, I did everything in my control to change my circumstances and prayed a lot about where God wanted me for the summer.
But then my prayers began to change. Realizing that all my efforts to get a job had thus far failed and that I was totally out of control of the situation, I began to pray for surrender rather than insight. I had thought I had let go. I didn’t have a specific plan; I had applied to an array of jobs in an array of cities. I was flexible. I was going with the flow.
In my mind, I had said, “Lord, I will follow wherever you lead me”. However, this “submission” of mine came with a caveat. I was really saying “Lord, I will follow wherever you lead me, as long as you lead me to DC (or even Nashville, I’m flexible!) to an impressive-sounding job working on sustainable development or environmental protection”. I wasn’t about to let God lead me to work for PETA in Kansas (or even for an engineering firm in Pittsburgh for that matter).
I wanted something to do for the next couple months and to somehow make a difference in the world; but more than that, I wanted to do it on my terms and prove that I was smart, that I was significant, that I was worthy. I wanted to use worldly achievements and titles to justify to others and to myself that what I was doing was worth it, that I was worth it. And with each “thank you for your interest but unfortunately it’s not reciprocal” email, my belief in myself and in my worth began to fade.
So much of my self worth, unfortunately, often lies in outside circumstances, in worldly achievements, and in the ways I think other people view me. This can be an exhausting way to live and I can’t say I personally recommend it. This approach is also rather sinful, as it selfishly claims that my value as a person is up to me rather than the one who created me.
In the past year, God has shown me again and again (and again and again) the lack of control I have in this life. Although terrifying and difficult, the revelation of this reality has forced me to start to actually surrender and loosen the illusory grip I have that has caused me sweaty palms and white knuckles. I'm not great at letting go, as it can be vulnerable and scary, but I'm learning (rather slowly, might I add) that it just might be worth it. I'll keep you updated on how it goes.