Resignation

I'm back again. The third day I've been able to have afternoon tea and a scone in a row. I've been under a great deal of stress lately. In my position some people would look for a Xanax or Valium. I'm happy with my scones and tea. As I mentioned in a previous post, I am currently waiting to find out if I got into graduate school. I am, at present, finishing up a masters degree in clinical psychology. I have a 4.0, excellent GRE scores, research experience, and fantastic letters of recommendation. There is no reason why I shouldn't get in. And yet I have applied before to Phd programs, albeit in clinical psychology rather than social and didn't get in. Two years running. I have felt compelled to go into therapy since I was sixteen. And once I got here, I realized that that isn't it. That isn't what I am Supposed To Be Doing. I like research, so that was the Next Logical Step. Hence the third go round of applications and 2 interviews (though half the places to which I applied don't interview). I am on the wait list at the University of Oregon (though that doesn't appear as if it will work out) and still in limbo about Texas A & M (the other place I interviewed) as well as three other schools. The national deadline is April 17th. Ten days in which the rest of my life--or my life in terms of the foreseeable future will be decided. I have been under considerable anxiety over the prospect of not getting into graduate school. There is no safety net. If I don't get in, my husband currently is without a job, and I don't have the foggiest idea what I will do.

I spent 2 hours on the phone with my best friend this afternoon getting lectured (for lack of a better term--although in a very loving manner) about how I don't listen to God. I am a very independent creature who abhors dependence. I cannot stand the notion that anyone controls my life but me. These were very natural outgrowths of my life up to a certain point and are adaptive to an extent. But she thinks it is time I move beyond that. I have complained on innumerable occasions that I need to be hit over the head with a 2x4 or sent an email from God with the subect line: What To Do With Your Life or "The Plan". My friend says that many people would take the not getting in to grad school two years running before as a sign. But not me. I keep on plodding along because that's what I know. If I don't get into graduate school in ten days, it will not be the end of the world. Someone remind me I said that if it happens. But at least I will know, beyond the shadow of a doubt that I did absolutely everything in my power to make it happen. I will have done everything there is to do and satisfied myself of that fact. It was the "safe" thing to do. She proceded to point out a number of other arenas in which I have done exactly that--chosen the safe path rather than the risk. I must confess, I found myself somewhat shocked. I hadn't ever realized that I had that habit. But clearly I do. I've always chalked it up to practicality. But somewhere I have crossed a line.

My relationship with God has been somewhat touch and go over the years. After my parents' very messy divorce my middle years of college, I turned away and only in the last few years began to be on speaking terms with Him again. And as it turns out it's been mostly me speaking and refusing to listen to anything said in return. "No no no. This is what I want to do. I'm going to do things My Way." My way has been to be mulishly determined to pursue a PhD in psychology, regardless of whatever has stood in my way. And now, ten days before the Fat Lady Sings, I find myself floundering and able to admit that on some level I don't even CARE if I get into graduate school--I just want to Know to be Put Out Of My Misery.

I cannot imagine what I will do with myself if I don't go on to more graduate study. School is what I know. It's the "Safe Thing" again. My brief 2 year stint in the Real World convinced me that I hated it and wanted to get back in and stay in the world of Academia where I knew how to function. And my friend is right. It IS a crutch.

If having my Best Friend (who happens to have a master's of divinity, whose opinion I probably respect above almost all others, and who knows me better than probably anyone) tell me I'm not listening is not a Clear Sign that I am, in fact, Not Listening, then it's time I stopped my arguing and humming with my fingers metaphorically in my ears and do so.

So here I am. I admit it. I don't know what I am doing. There. That should gain me entrance into Control Freaks Anonymous. I wonder where the nearest meeting is? I am throwing up my hands. You Win, God. I clearly don't have a clue and my way has clearly just mucked my life up Good and Proper. I am Human. I am Fallible. I am, above all, Stubborn as one of Your Mules. But that's it. I give up. I Don't Have A Clue. And I'm Listening. And uncomfortable as it may be for me, I am ready to hand over the reins.