Ever felt like you were very much in the wrong place?

I don't mean you make a wrong turn in a strange city and getting the goose-bumply feeling that if you look anyone in the eye, you're life might end. Harrowing as that experience can be (oh yes...I've been there!), it pales in comparison to this other feeling I will try and describe to you.

It's a pit-of-your-stomach, aching-pull-on-your-soul, brain-twirling, pore-oozing panic that screams, "STOP!!!! What are you doing here? Where are you really headed? And for the love of all things good, WHY?!?!?!" It's the sickening dread that, somewhere down the line, you made a wrong life turn and now you're headed straight into downtown Has-Been-ville, where 95% of the masses live in discontented dreariness, wondering what happened to their high aspirations of young adulthood, when all of life was before them and all they had to do was reach out to succeed. Now for all their dreams of being the brilliant minds of tomorrow, they are paper pushers, cubicle occupants, deadbeats...failures in the career world, but even worse off in their families and spiritual journeys.

I'm there.

I felt as if I'd been sucker punched in the stomach, all the air knocked right out of my lungs, when the realization hit me yesterday afternoon. It was on that drive home from work...long, busy day followed by 45 minutes stalled in traffic. I looked around me at the other drivers in their own troubled worlds, none of us truly caring about the others. I wondered how many of them were making meaningless mental budgets as they waited for the light to turn green. How many of them are waiting for life's green light...waiting and waiting and waiting? I felt sorry for them, people who will never realize their dreams.

But I'm on the road to being one of them. I put in a 40 hour week at a paper pushing job, ending the day sitting in traffic wondering how I'm going to make ends meet and where I'm gonna end up. It's a dreary, meaningless future.

I always swore I would never be one of those people who worked a job just to work the job. I swore I would be one of those people who worked hard at something I loved and played harder. I was going to be a successful, artistic, happy, purpose-driven person.

I'm 24.

It's not the end of the world, by any means. I have plenty of years ahead of me to do great things. Problem is, I have plenty of years behind me too. What have I got to show for them? It's been 7 years since I graduated high school and entered the real world. How far have I come? Let me tell you.

Seven years ago, I was writing blogs from a computer room in my parents' house. I was idealistic, hypocritical, pompous, knowing everything about life and God and Christianity. I could argue the fine points of calvinism vs. armenianism and the culmination of my spirituality would've been realized had I convinced you of the errors of your doctrinal beliefs. If you didn't share my world view, you weren't my friend. I worked for my dad, lived in my parents' home, practiced music 2 hours a day, dreamt of being a musician, writer, mother and pastor's wife. I was going to be married by 21, pop out a dozen kids, and prove to everyone that you could raise perfect children and be a perfect Christian while you did it.

Naive doesn't even begin to describe 17 year old Amy.

Five years ago, the tremor of change shook my confident little world ever so slightly. I went to Bible school where I was challenged that maybe the end all of spirituality may NOT be whether you believed in predestination or free will. Maybe it had more to do with relationships and Jesus and doing the Word instead of arguing it. I was writing my blog entries from a shared computer lounge in a converted old convention center. I was confused, stretched, searching...but still as proud and idealistic as ever. I was jobless, broke and spending every day doing something for other people. My goal was still to be a musician, writer, mother, pastor's wife. Now I wanted to be an inner city missionary too. I was going to be married in 5 years, pop out half a dozen kids and prove to everyone that you could raise perfect children by being a vibrant, on-fire Christian.

19 year old Amy was starting to get a clue. But she was far from losing her naivete.

Two years ago, a frustrated and restless Amy set out to find what was missing. I was tired of writing idealistic blog entries about how perfect my life was, how great my faith was and how I was going to impact the world for Christ. I was tired of pretending to be perfect on the outside when inside I struggled with hatred, bitterness, indecision, loneliness, pride...I felt like I was getting no where. I had missed my opportunity to get the necessary education to be a great musician and the road seemed blocked at every attempt to be a missionary. So I moved. Completely started fresh in a new part of the country. My goals soon changed...make money, spend money, have a good time in life, try to make it to college so I could get a better job and make more money. Oh yeah. Find someone to marry. Maybe have kids. Maybe. If you weren't a Christian, you stood a better chance at being my friend. I was going to be married in 5 years (give or take) and prove to everyone that being a homeschooled conservative didn't mean you were socially inept and couldn't become a successful career driven person and solid Christian (though "solid" was more of a liquid term at that point).

Foolish became the new fitting description for 22 year old enlightened Amy.

Today, I'm staring out the same window I did seven years ago. The trees are a little taller, but the view is essentially the same. I'm writing blog entries from a borrowed laptop. I am more confused than ever, humbled, broken, lost...wondering how I came to be in this tough place and where I am to go from here. I realize now that spirituality is 100% about relationship with Christ, not about religious rules and guidelines that lead to lifeless hypocrisy and zombie "Christians." I also realize that this relationship should be the sun that all my other dreams and wishes revolve around. (Easier said than done, right?) I don't know how to handle this astoundingly simple revelation. I mean, parts of me are still battling the desires to get an education and a good job, to become a great musician, to write bestseller literature, to head up an amazing missions group that impacts the world and to be married and raise a family. I've even revisited the old dream of being a pastor's wife. They're all good things...but now I don't know which are the right things and which should be thrown out.

All I know is that in 5 years, I want...to be more in love with Jesus, following in His steps out of want to not have to, making up for all the time I've lost being indifferent and selfish. Who I will be with, what I will be doing in life...I don't really know.

The 24 year old Amy thinks she might finally understand a very little bit now.

I should have been born blonde (don't everyone agree at once! Sheesh.)

No. It's not because blonde's have more fun. It's because I belong in that stereotypical category of blonde women jokes are made of. Hard to believe, I know.

And here is why. It had been a long, harrowing day at work. Hadn't had much time to think about ANYthing except the growing pile of work laid out before me. The last hour of the work day is upon me and I finally have a chance to sit back and BREATHE. It's beautiful.

Except my mind has time to focus now and I realize with disturbed annoyance that my arm is itching. Like, REALLY itching. We're talking poison ivy infected itching. Or so I would assume that's what it would feel like. So with unnecessary aggression, I began scratching my arm.

My coworker turned around at this precise moment and gave me a quizzical look. "What in the world are you doing?! Trying to scratch the skin off your arm?"

"No, no...I just can't get rid of the itch," I explained, trying to make myself not look quite as odd. "I get them all the time...it's like a phantom itch that won't go away!"

The split second of silence that followed was profound.

"No. Wait." I tried to back my way out of my slip. "Phantom itch means there's nothing THERE to itch, doesn't it?"

After laughing at my expense, we both agreed I am special. And I need to see someone about that....

Moments of genius...

Brilliant ideas sometimes come in the most unexpected places.

Today I had just such a brilliant idea. To think I almost stayed home.

Family drives are a thing of the past. In the Fairbanks clan, it used to be a tradition…dad would load up a varying number of little striplings, ignore the groans and complaints of "Aw man, another drive?!!!"…and take off where ever he fancied. We never knew where we might end up. Sometimes there was a fantastic surprise at the end of the hours of back roads travel…an old historic mission, creepy, damp caves in the high mountains, giant cedar trees along a walking trail in the middle of Nowhere, Montana. Sometimes it was a less than exciting trip up an old mountain road that ended in bike trails and led to mom pulling out a map as dad insisted, "But I know where I am! Don’t panic."

So back to brilliance.

At mom’s insistence, dad decided to trek out across the panhandle of Idaho this afternoon. Little kids put up their usual fight and insisted on staying home. So with only four of us piled into the "pretty" Vibe, we set out to find the latest and greatest civilized incivility known as campgrounds with water and electricity. (A whole other blog subject.)

I pulled out the laptop, bent on finishing up a photo editing project that should’ve been done weeks ago. I was soon distracted by the rollercoaster effect of dad’s driving around the twisting, curving scenic byways of northern Idaho.

It was somewhere between the serene pond you caught a peek at through a screen of evergreen and the rusty old train trestle looming overhead, a monument to ages gone by, that it struck me.

I have looked in every place imaginable for my "niche." You know, the one thing I could do that defines who I am. I’ve thought of pursuing music teaching, wedding photography, owning a specialty tea shop with private tea gardens. I’ve dreamt of writing bestseller nonfiction works. I’ve schemed up ways to open a music store. When I was feeling more practical, I conned up 5 year plans that involved Bachelor degrees in business, human resources…even engineering.

But all of those things require start up costs that I don’t currently have in my resources. Today it struck me what I can do.

I can write.

Not some blown up idealized piece of fiction (although the story I started years ago about a German immigrant in the 1800’s wasn’t a bad piece). Not some deep, involved memoir (although I plan to do that some day as well).

No, I can combine my love for history, for writing, for the outdoors, for photography, for visiting new places and traveling all into one simple project. I can’t believe I never thought of it before. I’ve been inspired to pick up a project I actually began at the age of eleven. Back then, I only had a regional playground as my source of inspiration, but I could tell you snippets of exciting history from local landmarks…it was my goal to turn boring ol’ historic sites into places living, breathing & colorful by finding out about the real people who had been there. I could tell you about faithful Jesuit priests who withstood native Indian attacks to build a mission for weary travelers. Or regaled you with a sinister tale of crooked businessmen who conned up a grand investment scheme for a great apple orchard out West…then ran with their stockholders’ money. I gloried in supposing what life must’ve been like in a lonely northern log mill town where men built enormous wooden chutes to send the logs down to the nearest river.

So why not pass that on to others? Sometimes the greatest stories in history are sitting right under your nose and you never realize it. Sometimes the most unique little towns have wild scandals in their past that you would never guess might exist by seeing the ghost town they have become.

I want to tap into that wealth of information. Who knows what it could become…a history book, a travelers’ guide or a pleasant easy read. And it’s something I can do now with the talents and gifts I have in my resources in this time and place.

My moment of brilliance may not mean anything to anyone else but it was like a light bulb blinking on for me. I’m too excited NOT to share it with you (so don’t anyone steal my idea now…)

"Okay, seriously?! You can't possibly be that cold," my mom chided last night, as I bundled up in a sweatshirt to join her for a movie in the living room.

"Oh yes I can," I retorted back, reaching for the decorative afghan thrown across the back of the sofa.

Moments later, two little sisters (namely Hava-6 and Ana-4) came parading down the stairs from their bedroom, decked out in similar sweaters and exaggerated shivers because they were "freezing just like Amy!!!"

I had to laugh. It doesn't take long for the big sister influence to kick back in full force. They have no problem raking through my stuff, parading around in my high heels ("These are so cool!") and mimicking my every move.

Wish I could re-adjust so effortlessly. And I don't just mean in regards to the weather.

It's been a week ago today that dad and I, tired and slightly irritable, pulled into Spokane. It had been a grueling 32 hours on the road. Never have I been so happy to sleep on a couch, even though my dog Annie stole my pillow at some point in the night and claimed all but about 6 inches of the edge of the couch as her domain. After two days of sleeping with a kinked neck in intervals while dad drove, that sofa felt like heaven.

The job hunting began just as soon as I had sufficiently unpacked. Job interviews are apparently not my strong point...I hate them as much as they hate me. The lack of decent prospects has turned my very uptight, by-a-schedule, organized self into a stressed out crazy person. Stressed to the point of tears on a couple  occasions even.

Not having a set schedule has created down times...like today...in which I have plenty of time to do some people missing. "My people." The ones who are your best friends, even though you're too busy to realize it...that is, until they're gone. I don't regret my move (yet), but I sure do wish I could've kidnapped about 20 people and brought them with me.

So I sit here in a coffee shop for the 3rd afternoon in a row, watching people interact, wishing my time away. The job interviews, the gym, the studies...those things only keep me busy for so long. I sit here, gauging my time by what I would be doing. "...tonight is volleyball...we would be playing and then maybe hitting up McNellie's afterwards..." "If I were there, I'd have gone running on Riverside with coworkers today..." "I wonder what fun exciting things the pineapple has going this weekend..."

It makes me feel slightly crazy actually.

Not that I don't have things to be glad for here. I have 4 adoring little sisters. A safe place to stay while I sort out up from down in regards to the past few months. But without my people, I feel somewhat lost. It's not as easy to grapple for your footing on the mountain climb of life when you are missing the supports that kept you stable.

I'm sure in the near future, I will look back on this test of my character and find that I am a better person for the struggles, pain and heartache. I'm sure when all is said and done, I will even be grateful.

And it is that thought I keep ahead of them all.

One of those days....

You've had those days.
 
Don't pretend you haven't.
 
The kind where everything seems to go wrong and you are convinced the entire world...even that lame dude who cut you off in traffic earlier...is out to get you. ("He gave me the evil eye, I know it.") The kind where you woke up 15 minutes late, rushed out the door half dressed, barely remembered to feed the cat who was knawing at her own foot in her desperation for food, couldn't find your keys or the correct change for the toll. Not that it would've mattered anyway cause the change you DID have got stuck and you had to throw another 35 cents at the feeder...only to realize that the dumb thing was busted and you just overpaid, not by a mere 5 cents, but 40...which is an 1/8th of a gallon of gas, assuming your car keeps running since that "check engine" light popped up mockingly on your dashboard yesterday morning on the way to work.
 
It's the kind of day when you need comfort in the form of a dr pepper before the clock has even struck 8:30 a.m....and the dr pepper is STILL on your desk 8 hours later, as you rush out of the office, because you didn't have time to enjoy it.
 
It's the kind of day where you spend too much money on lunch (cause you forgot yours at home anyway)...only to get a phone call after the last sinfully pleasurable morsel is consumed, that your lab puppy also enjoyed a gourmet brunch al a sofa ("Extra cushion stuffing, hold the wooden feet, please."). You try not to go into cardiac arrest thinking about the $1300 dollars going up in fluff that you paid a $200 warranty for and realize it probably won't cover causes of loss such as canine demolition.
 
It's the kind of day when you can't even find the upside of the pile of paperwork strewn across your large wrap around desk...but it was all due yesterday anyway, so it really doesn't matter. NOT that you can concentrate on it either.
 
Because it's the kind of day when you have so much on your mind that you can't share with anyone for fear that actually letting the bottled up emotions out would result in someone's unnecessarily premature death, a potentially traumatic mental breakdown or shots of tequila and table dancing (no, Dad...I would never actually do that). Okay, maybe not that extreme. Actually, it suddenly strikes you that maybe it's too late and the mental breakdown has already begun it's slow, deadly poison seepage. You'll know by tomorrow.
 
By 2:30 in the afternoon, you just want to curl into the fetal position under your desk and cry crocodile tears of pain, humiliation, stress, fear, weeks-old shame and depression.
 
The only thing keeping you from said emotional melt-down is the knowledge that, in half an hour, you have to join the ENTIRE office staff out in the lobby for a special meeting called by the company president. And mascara runs would be tough to pass off as an up and coming fashion trend.
 
You feel at your wit's end and you just want to get away from everything...the money problems, the rebellious puppy, the demanding job, the abusive people (who in some cases, are blithely ignorant that they are part of the problem), the rainy weather, the responsibilities of life in general.
 
Here we sit, at the peak of your frustration, feeling much like Eeyore with a perpetual gloomy cloud overhead while the rest of the world laughs and plays like they haven't a care in the world.
 
Then it happens.
 
For whatever reason, God shows that you are not unloved (at least not completely). And this isolated sunray warms you in the form of...
 
...the realization that a coworker PAID for that dr pepper, without you even asking for it. And it'll still be there tomorrow, just in case.
 
...the chuckles and groans passed via email with several of your favorite "peoples" bemoaning bad days and the effect they had on your chocolate consumption and unwanted calories that were oh-so-tasty (not to mention FREE, since they had been brought by a company rep earlier in the day).
 
...a relieving phone call from the roommate saying that the dog had only continued her demolition of a sofa cushion previously snacked on...it's the small things you appreciate, yes?
 
And most of all, discovering after FIVE YEARS of searching for the exact copy of J.S. Bach's French Suites played by pianist Andras Schiff (who is, might I say, a brilliant pianist and one of the few artists I would actually buy recordings of), that you can download the almost 3 hours of heavenly music to your ipod for a mere $20.
 
This discovery has singularly worked as pure joy elixer to my otherwise morbidly depressing day and will, I warrant, continue to help me float past having to be around people and in places I don't want to be for the remainder of the day (in lieu of the ballet class I can't afford to attend this evening).

You have no idea how happy soothing piano tunes transposed by one of the most brilliant minds in Baroque, perhaps musical, history makes a person who finds relaxation and peace in the strong melodies and predictable chordal harmonies.

The world is right once more.