Living Happiness

Last week I began to share with you the story of how, once upon a time, I came to change my life and change it so drastically. How does one up and leave a comfy life in the States for a not-so-comfy life in an unknown country? How does one decide to leave that which is sure to go toward that which is unsure?

My leap of faith began (as you now know) not as a sudden decision or some big show of daring and bravado, but as a morning’s walk in darkness. And it was on the heels of those footsteps in the dark that others began: baby steps to be sure, but solid and sure, that would just as slowly and surely lead me down the path to my new life.

The thoughts that had come to me in those morning hours at the Abbey had not struck me as incredibly profound at the time. I had gone to the Abbey, like most people, hoping that God would put up a big sign in the sky that said, “Hey, Chania Girl, this is what you are supposed to do with your life: Fill In Gap Here.” So this revelation–that I just had to trust the path I was on–was comforting but didn’t hold my imagination the way seeing my destiny written in fireworks in the sky might have.

That Monday morning at the end of my retreat, I got into my car and slowly rolled along the drive back out to the highway. I headed back to my “normal” life without dreading it the way I had four days before.

Here’s how the path continued to reveal itself to me, as I tried out my legs on this new ground …

November 2005
I have turned in my resignation from the corporation where I work, and today is my last day. For the last month I have walked around on cloud nine, unable to keep the smile off my face at the prospect of my leaving.

People keep coming by my desk asking me what my next plans are. I tell them, “I don’t have any,” and I don’t. The still, small voice in my heart is a bit louder now, and it has told me not to line anything up but to rest and see what the Universe has in store for me.

I make my final calls and turn in my last reports; the last faxes are sent out, and my desk is cleaned. I walk out feeling like Atlas with the weight of the world removed. I hop into my car, and I am free.

Four days later, I turn 30. I feel more alive than I ever have, more certain that my life is now full of possibilities. I am more excited than I am nervous. More anxious to see what comes next than fearful that something won’t. I wine and dine with friends. I visit an art exhibition featuring amazing women at the local contemporary art gallery. I read books and listen to Joni Mitchell and John Denver. I feel at home in my own skin.

December 2005
It is almost Christmas, the season of Advent in my church. Everyone is waiting with baited breath for the arrival of something big, and I am too. I am beginning to be nervous and jittery. I know I have done the right thing but … something needs to happen already. Money is a concern, so I take on a part-time job at the mall helping in seasonal sales. It isn’t bad, but it isn’t great. My still, small voice tells me to believe, but I am struggling.

I call my priest, Linda. I tell her what is going on. She says, “Well, this is what Advent’s all about, sweetie. The season of preparation, the season of darkness before light.” I am not sure I am comforted.

Christmas 2005
It is Christmas. Advent is over and the Christ-child has arrived. Everyone’s hopes have been fulfilled. People are happy and rejoice.

I rejoice, too. I have received a call from my church offering me a part-time job on a six-month contract starting in the new year. It is enough money to pay the bills and gives me flexible hours that still allow me plenty of time to focus on the matter of me and my vocation. I accept immediately and give thanks that this gift has arrived. Merry Christmas to me!

April 2006
I now have only two months left on my contract at the church and find myself still exploring options. I want to do something I love. I want to do something with purpose and meaning. But what is it? WHAT IS IT? I do career assessments, I chart my creative successes, I Myers-Briggs myself to death, and nothing is leaping out at me. I wander the shelves of my mind, searching for the job that has my name on it. Then I walk further back into my mental storage closet and begin taking stock, and it’s there I see something on the back shelf that’s been sitting there for a while. I take it out, brush it off, and read the writing on the jar. I discover that it’s still interesting. I discover that it still intrigues me. And I realize that, at this point in my life, it may actually finally be do-able: I want to teach. I want to travel. I am finally going to do both.

June 2006
It is a June morning and I am on a plane to Germany, where I will spend a week before I alight in Crete . The sound of U2’s Pride fills my ears, and my heart soars as the plane leaves the ground. I cry sweet tears of joy. I am going to Greece! I am going to train to be a TEFL teacher! Then I can go anywhere in the world, which is exactly what I intend to do.

Note — This post is the second of three that chart my journey from one life and into another.  For the beginning and ending of the story, you will want to read these posts:

• Footsteps in the Dark (Part 1/3)
• When Walking Becomes Flying (Part 3/3)

Looking forward to hearing from you,