Thank you and Goodbye

"You have a restless spirit" he typed.

(I have this addiction to gmail chat that I don't like to admit, but that is true nonetheless)

"Well, I suppose so..." I responded, "BUT..."

There's always a "but" when it comes to claiming my personal propensities, especially the ones that are so subjective. I guess I wasn't really claiming my restless spirit so much as I was defending it, as if I know there is something wrong with being restless, as if I want to be more settled and stable, but I just can't help myself and my perpetual need for change.

"I'd like to think of it more as wanderlust," I continued. "BUT...I suppose you're right."

I am restless. My spirit doesn't just occasionally stir, it shifts uncomfortably and continually, like a thirteen-year-old boy in the middle of an 8th hour English class. Mondays are the worst. I haven't gone to work on a Monday morning since September, maybe August. It's supposed to be my sabbath--the day I don't drive to Liberty or answer my work e-mails or worry about finding chaperones for the next middle school retreat--but it often ends up feeling quite the opposite. Last Monday was fairly productive--I worked on a writing sample and did my dishes and went to the gym and made phone calls. I did some reading. Today I slept in until 8:45, made breakfast, answered some e-mails, and realized yet again how fitful I become without a schedule.

Then I thought about the "Thank you and Goodbye" reception that was held for me at St. Stephen yesterday. It strikes me as somewhat absurd that you wouldn't thank someone for their work until they are about to leave. A "thank you" reception would have been really helpful about 12 months into my job, when I started each morning re-thinking whether or not I should have taken it. "Thank you" would have been a great thing to say when I was in the throws of organizing a service event, planning a confirmation service, or finishing a weekend with a dozen middle school girls. But waiting until I leave to tell that my work is appreciated is almost cruel. I'm sure it was meant to give me a case of the "warm fuzzies," but instead it made me feel empty and hollow. If I had known that I was appreciated, that people noticed and even liked what I was doing, maybe I wouldn't have been so restless, so ready to move on.

Leaving a job, I have decided, is a lot like breaking up with someone. I've never really been on this side of that equation before (i.e., the "dumper"), but I imagine I would probably have similar second thoughts and misgivings about leaving another entity to whom I had previously committed myself. Maybe that's part of the reason I haven't ever ended a relationship. Because I just don't end things. I fight the end, sometimes fiercely. I didn't end my relationship with high school, college, or any of the half a dozen internships that I've had. They were only temporary in the first place.

The only time I've ever really left a place was when I moved from Lincoln, Nebraska, to Kansas City. My waitressing gig at Tandoor wasn't bringing in much money, so that was a pretty painless and mutual decision. But I nearly cried when I left the HyVee bakery. When my manager asked if I wanted to stay in the system I replied, "Well, you never know." They were happy to see me move onto bigger things, but I was still sad to go.

This is the first time a job has ever pursued me. We sort of pursued each other really. It didn't seem like a perfect fit, at least not from my perspective, but they seemed so very eager to make it work. So I thought I'd have a go and see what happened. It was blissful for a while. I was surrounded by preschool students singing Christmas songs and coloring gingerbread men. I got paid to go camping and canoeing and to talk to high school students about the importance of prayer and the beauty of community. It was good stuff. But then, about a year in, I wasn't really sure about it anymore. I wasn't sure if this could be a more permanent thing, if I could see myself as a youth director for the rest of my life. I wasn't being affirmed in my work and didn't feel able to freely use my gifts. It wasn't what I expected from a youth position and it didn't satisfy me the way I thought a career should. I was young. I had other ideas. I had the freedom to pursue them. So I decided I would. I put in my two years and I began dreaming of other things.

I suppose it isn't unlike my current relationship with David. He was the first person to really pursue me, and I suppose I pursued back as well. It didn't seem like a perfect fit, at least not from my perspective, but he seemed so very eager for things to work. So I thought I would have a go and see what would happen. It was blissful at first. We began dating in December, surrounded by Christmas lights and holiday parties, and those sort of "early relationship" conversations. There was someone else paying for me to go to movies and taste delicious things and cook amazing food and meet his wonderful friends. It was good stuff. But then, about a year in, I wasn't really sure about it anymore. I wasn't sure if this could become a more permanent thing, if I could see myself with David for the rest of my life. We talked about it and got passed it and then he moved to California. Eight months later I began applying for graduate schools, mostly in the Bay Area. Up until November I was pretty sure about moving to California next summer. But then I was encouraged to apply elsewhere. I developed other ideas. I have the freedom to pursue them. But I am at a complete loss as to whether or not I should.

I wonder if some relationships (certainly not all of them, but some) would benefit from a "Thank You and Goodbye" ritual, only without the goodbye part. In fact, long before the goodbye happened. If we spent more time appreciating each other and affirming the roles that we play in one another's lives (romantic or otherwise) maybe there wouldn't be as much dissatisfaction and doubt and questioning. Maybe it would hamper some of that longing for something better, the restlessness that I so often seem to experience.

It's unfortunate that the catalyst for gratitude is so often the real or perceived risk of loss. When someone threatens to leave we suddenly realize how valuable they were or are or could be if only they weren't going away. But by that point it is often too late to say "thank you" without also saying "goodbye." And "goodbye" just seems like such a terribly cold thing to follow a heartfelt word of appreciation.

I'm not sure that appreciation would do anything to tame the restlessness of my spirit, but perhaps I would feel a bit more at home, a bit more welcome to rest in its acceptance.