The
school was like a dream. Spread
out over multiple buildings of local bluestone, this private school campus fit
thousands of the city’s most ambitious students. It was spacious and bright and the halls were covered with
various cultural relics, apparently for some ongoing school exhibition. The diverse crowd of students spotted
the hallways, laughing and moving quickly, as if returning to a much-anticipated
discussion. They seemed genuinely
happy to be in school. Students
seemed to be working together, rather than cutting each other down in the usual
teenage fashion. This place seemed
like the ideal workplace for any teacher, regardless of age or teaching
philosophy. It had eager learners,
big windows, many extra-curriculars, a snazzy website, a NEW LIBRARY. Unfortunately, the only thing I could
think of when I was dropping off my resume was, “Enjoy the view. This is the last time you’ll see this
place.” As I found the upper
school office and handed the envelope to the smartly dressed secretary, the
words seemed almost audible—“You’ll never work at a school like this. Who are you kidding?” It didn’t even occur to me that these
thoughts were so debasing, so often have I heard them spoken to myself. I drove away from the Abington school
feeling completely defeated—actually knowing
that I was defeated. It was true
that I was never going to get that job, but only because I really believed I could not do it.
I
have had a terribly self-defeating mind for as long as I can remember, but it
has only really proven consequential in the past several years since college. When it comes to anything job related,
I seem to buckle and shrink in fear.
So often have I let my mind bully myself into submission, into
resignation, fearing to go out and do the things that a “normal” adult seems to
accomplish with ease. I tell
myself that any effort I make will end up in failure, so I need to save myself
the embarrassment and just not try.
It is a psychological position that I seem to be trapped in—even when I try
to muster up any sort of confidence, I know it in my heart to be a façade that
will be quickly revealed.
So
where do I go from here? Settle
for mediocrity and a life of safety? That makes me feel even worse about myself. Push for the things seemingly greater
than myself and live in constant fear of failure? That only leads to exhaustion and isolation, which is also
unhealthy. These are the desperate
times that I hate and appreciate so much—the paradox of living with an
all-sufficient God.
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