the resignation

On my desk sit five copies of a resignation letter.

Neatly presented with carefully chosen words, I will deliver its message in one hour and 35 minutes. My heart beats wildly in alien rhythms as I select the right words to say. With a dry throat, a dripping adrenaline pump, a nervous nervous-system and armpits sweating like I'm twelve miles deep into a marathon, I will tell my supervisor that I’m leaving the comforts of stability for a new kind of journey.

And this is good.

I remember a presentation I heard at age 19 when I was a sophomore in college. I can't recall the speaker's name or book, only that he had excessive energy and encouraged moments like these, when we sense this holy fear and excitement burning inside our chests—these decisions define us and engage life at its peak.

Unfortunately, in my case, these holy rumblings don't happen as often as I'd like, or when they have, I've been fearful and chosen to repress them, though I feel something much greater may be waiting for me around the proverbial corner.

Oftentimes, we have to step into the unknown in order to be known.

The more I think about this, the more I come back to timeless truths. As cliché as it sounds, we were meant to live, not plainly exist. We have been created with a plan that fits who we've been created to be (I Corinthians 12).

The choice to live is ours.

Growing up in the United States, most students are taught that they can be anything they want to be, that hard work and effort always pay off. In many cases this is true, but is there more to consider than “what we want”?

As a kid, I was convinced that I was destined to be a professional baseball player for the Minnesota Twins. As it turns out, I didn’t even make the cut for the little league all-star team.

Childhood dreams aside, I am very grateful for freedom of choice—it is an amazing opportunity I wish every human had—but I still struggle with believing we can be “anything we want to be.”

For example, I certainly would not be a good doctor. While I might be able to pass the exams and the grueling education process, it would go against the grain of who I am, and I probably wouldn't recommend myself as a reliable source to remove your appendix or tame your child's stomach flu.

So where does this leave us?

Inside this paradox of endless opportunity and the reality of our being, where we continue to search for the place we truly “belong." When I resign from this job to follow new dreams, I don't believe I'll find that I've instantly "arrived" anywhere.

But what I do hope to find is that I'm finally on board for the rest of the journey.