Exactly one month ago, I started working at a law firm in the bustling city of Wilmington, Delaware.
-Let me preface-
I hate cities. Specifically major ones. Specifically Wilmington, which was third on the FBI’s list of “Most Dangerous Cities” in 2014. Affectionately called “Murder Town” by Newsweek, this is not where I would have envisioned myself. Ever. But here I am, driving busy 95 to work every day and trying to not use choice words at drivers who obviously have never heard of a blinker. Or merging. Or “safety.”
And I’m loving it.
My favorite course in college was Business Law, and I did well in it. I was one of those kids who stayed after class to talk more with the professor- at the cost of being late to my next class. I loved that class because I love being right. That is honestly what it came down to. I enjoy knowing all of the answers so I can outwit an opponent. Before I ever approached my parents with a question, you best believe I had it all worked out (yes, I still run things by them because they let me live at their home and eat their food and torture their cat). Learning law was fun for me, but I viewed it as more of a hobby than something I wanted to dedicate my life to.
Fast forward to my LAST week of Day Camp this summer. I’m stressing because I don’t have a job. I don’t have leads. I have applied to some retail stores and not heard back (REALLY??? I took multiple selling classes!! I am an asset!!).
So I do the usual “Abbie Freak Out” and decide that God has forgotten about me and I should have just married some boring random guy who made a decent amount of money and I definitely missed out on my future and oh no my parents are going to hate me because I’ll probably be living in their basement when I’m 40 and I’m going to have to go back to Chick-fil-A, and I have no friends here, and blah blah, ect.
You’re lying if you say you’ve never had one of these moments.
And then this job hit me smack in the face. Mid-freak out.
(Literally I was freaking out when my friend texted me about the position)
And then I said yes to an interview.
And then I looked up where the company was.
“THE PLACE I AVOID??”
“Okay Lord, I know I’ve been pestering you about a job for a really long time here, but can I like, exchange this job at your “Blessings Store” for something else? Like I know that You’re sovereign and all and You had this planned out since the beginning of time but can I get a refund? Cause I just don’t feel like it’s my size or style and maybe if you gave me something I was really comfortable with…”
And then I started the job.
While my family was out of town.
And I messed up a lot.
And I cried.
And I got a stress migraine on the third day.
And I didn’t have my mom.
And then I kept doing it.
And I got better.
And learned to turn off the AC so Luna could actually drive on the highway.
And people were kind.
And I was accepted.
And I got to learn more about law.
I am learning to love this city, flaws and all. My office is a gorgeous old, creaky house. The massive wooden doors squeak and don’t want to open because the humidity has made them swell. You can hear everyone’s conversations through the whole place (three stories with a staircase going straight up!). I love being in a space that has character. I’m not cooped up in a cubicle, but rather in an airy, open space, with lots of light shining through glass windows that are definitely older than my grandparents. It’s just beautiful, and everyone that comes in says so.
Aside from the 9:00-5:30, life is often lonely. I don’t have my brother, Andrew. I don’t have my college Girl Gang (thank you Facebook Messenger!!). I don’t have my best friend, Sarah. All I have is a stupid cat who gives me nothing but scratches and communicates by hissing. Bless her.
In a strange way, I feel guilty about enjoying my job. I struggle to say that I “love it”, because those words make me feel like I’m cheating on my future goals. If I fully embrace the here and now, is God not going to open up the West for me? Is He going to close the door for my desire to be a business owner? I’m scared to accept that I could be in Delaware for some time, and not where I feel that I would be supremely happy (aka anywhere besides Delaware).
I had a fantastic conversation last night with an older man in my church. Without knowing how I have been feeling about “missing out”, he told me about his life and how he was in the military when he was younger but transitioned to something different and much more mild. He told me that missed the military so much but thought he was through with that stage in life, and then- out of nowhere- he got a job working on fighter jets.
“I get emotional just thinking about it, Abigail”, he said as his eyes got shiny. “God brought back something into my life that I thought had passed.”
That conversation gave me renewed hope when I took 95 this morning. Just because I’m not doing exactly what I want to be doing forever right now doesn’t mean that it’s not in The Plan. And while I’m at it, I’m going to continue to be insanely thankful for this awesome job that dropped in my lap when I didn’t think there was hope. Just like the man’s story, God also brought something back into my life- law.
I am making good changes in my life. I got a premium membership to a gym (my dad is convinced he’s going to go with me), am reading off the chain, engaging in church more, reaching out to people I haven’t talked to since high school, and letting go of past drama that has only ever brought pain into my life. I started a pseudo-anonymous Instagram page just showing my work outfits, and not my face. I have spent many years being ashamed of my body and trying to hide myself in pictures. So naturally I did something that terrified me and created a page that is JUST my body, no face to distract from it.
And while I’m at it-
JUST BECAUSE YOU DON’T LOOK THE EXACT WAY THAT SOCIETY TELLS YOU TO LOOK DOES NOT MAKE YOUR BEAUTY INVALID. YOU’RE ALLOWED TO FEEL GOOD IN CLOTHES, EVEN IF THEY AREN'T A SIZE SMALL. OR MEDIUM. OR LARGE. I refuse and you should refuse to buy into the internal and external lie that you have to be perfectly skinny to enjoy life. That is bogus.
Plus, my cat would hate me at any size.
So life is good, even if I want to be a stinker and not admit it with fireworks and neon signs. It’s like asking your 12 year old sister if she has a crush on a boy and she blushes and denies and denies, but there’s a smile. You know. She has a crush.
That’s how I feel. I have a crush on my life. It’s not perfect, but it’s pretty great.