Shakespeare, as usual, provides unbeatable phrasings for the deepest thoughts….
Discontentment really is a soul-winter. It robs you of joy; freezes over the warmth of soul and life that ought to throb and remind you of what’s worth living for.
I am thankful that Paul said, “I have LEARNED in whatsoever state I am in, in that to be content,” because I’m thinking this whole “contentment” deal is a tough thing to swallow sometimes.
Of course, anyone who resides in a comfortable air-conditioned (or heated) house in a safe suburban subdivision in the richest nation on the planet has not right to complain about anything. Ever. But it’s wound into my heart. The disease goes all the way to the core…
Ever since I’ve been a kid, I’ve felt a wanderlust that’s hard to suppress for long. Guess that’s no surprise for someone who spent the middle 14 years of my life (so far) expecting to live most of my days in a foreign country doing missions work.
Usually I can pacify my lust for new places and tasks with summer travel or the occasional overseas jaunt (and I’ve been unusually blessed in that department so far). I don’t ever really lust for new people. I’m happy to meet them when they come along, but my personality profile essentially contradicts what would be required for a good church planter. lol Jack’s got all the “people-gene” in that department.
But I’ve rarely done the same thing for longer than a few years. Even my 9 years at the library were divided into 3 student worker years, 2 as a shelving/circ GA, and 4 as reference librarian — totally different departments, totally different to-do lists.
Teaching is a blessed profession as far as variety goes — no two classes are alike; no two days are the same. Your lesson plans are as far from “set in stone” as one can get without being just downright laughable. I doubt any experienced teacher truly follows a lesson plan. Well, I guess the science & math people kinda do. We humanities people fly by the seat of our pants every week. I have a destination in mind and a general flight plan. Zooming around the obstacles and taking advantage of the motivatational up-drafts makes teaching far more of an “art” than “science.”
Yet here I am, generally discontent. Eight years is a long time in one place, methinks.
So. The winter of discontentment.
I look out the metaphoric window and see dead trees, piles of crackled leaves, bleak skies, and a cold front moving in. Colors dull themselves against a gray backdrop. The landscape seems all too familiar.
Is it wrong to genuinely enjoy your job, yet want to leave it?
Is it a failure to lack any motivation to invest “in a new batch”?
[That question scares me . I’ve lived for so long with the deep pool of emotions stirred down to the very bottom, I don’t know how to handle this new state of surface-level concern. Frankly, it sucks. But that’s a whole ‘nother post, and not really worth posting.]
…thankful that God’s love is constant. His colors never change.
I write. I design. I cook. I read. I make music. I talk to people -- all kinds of people.
I used to teach and hopefully will do so again someday.
My dream job would be a cross between barrista and consultant, with a large helping of international travel and bohemian wandering through concerts, museums, galleries, and open spaces.
Somewhere back in time, my students started calling me "RameyLady" and the name stuck. I like it. There's a Ramey-man too. He's a much better writer but he seems to be too humble to share it with the world....at least, not yet.