Change That Harms and Change That Helps

My emotions and thoughts are like race car tracks right now.  My INFJ dominant introverted intuition is in high gear; I'm ruminating about future possibilities.

I was recently contacted by my alma mater regarding a position that I had applied to weeks ago.  I never expected to be invited to do a phone interview.  I never expected them to actually like me during the phone interview and then invite me to an in-person interview.  I never expected to be contemplating moving away from my family right now, taking Tobin away from the only home he's known, and adding some unwanted chaos to a graduate student's already hectic life.

I've been thinking about fear, and how fear can sometimes keep us from doing what's best for us.  Fear can cause us to self-sabotage; it can make us doubt ourselves.  We second-guess our decisions.  We come up with mental justifications for why not upsetting the status quo is better for us--why change is overrated and unnecessary.

I am not fond of change.  In my life, change has always brought on an immense amount of stress, and has propelled me into some of my darkest days and worst autoimmune flare-ups.  Moving always makes me feel like I'm having a breakdown--mostly because I'm away from my family, my support system.  New jobs can provoke a lot of anxiety.  Navigating life with a full-time job, full-time graduate program, and full-time fur-child is something I'm terrified to do, terrified to even imagine.

Is fear ever healthy?  I think that sometimes our gut-level feelings can direct us quite appropriately.  Fear keeps us from danger and makes us think more carefully about decisions.  But fear can also be crippling, because we can imagine so many dangerous scenarios that they prevent us from acting indefinitely--from ever making any movement with our lives.

I don't know if I'll be offered the job at my former university.  But I do know that for the longest time I said that my dream job would be to work in this department at my alma mater.  And it seems as though this dream may come true much earlier than I anticipated.  But then I begin to wonder, is it really my dream?  Does my INFJ idealism build up these imagined scenarios to be better than they would actually be in real life?  Can my autoimmune-diseased body realistically handle this dream I've conjured up for myself?

I keep asking that God would only have them offer me the job if it's His will that I accept the offer.  But then I am reminded that God often doesn't work that way, and He may leave deciding up to me without giving me a clear sense of His will.  Perhaps either decision would be His will.  This is one time when I would need to make a decision that I can't simply back out of--I would be committing to a move and an apartment and a career and a new life.  And I worry that I'm not ready yet.

I keep repeating the lyrics of "He Leadeth Me" in my head.  It reminds me that God's hand is upon me and guides me.  I want to make a decision that's best for me and best for Tobin.  I don't want to do anything that will exacerbate my illnesses or make Tobin depressed or that I'll regret a few days or weeks in.  Change is scary.  I pray for myself the serenity prayer, that I would accept the things that cannot be changed, that I would have the courage to change in the ways God wants me to, and that I would know the difference between change that will harm me and change that will help me.

He leadeth me, O blessed thought!

O words with heav’nly comfort fraught!

Whate’er I do, where’er I be

Still ’tis God’s hand that leadeth me.

On the Brink of 30 (Sort Of)

I should be reading or watching online lectures for my classes.  Since I was instead binge-watching "Law and Order: SVU," writing a post seemed like a productive alternative.

I've had many thoughts swirling around my mind for the past few days.  It's funny how living on the brink of 30 makes you start to feel like there's an invisible, symbolic clock ticking over your head--reminding you that each year passes a little faster than the last, and that a decade isn't so much time after all.  Because I'm 29, I still feel safe and like my circumstances are socially-appropriate and like I'm being a typical 20-something.  Already, the mere thought of me being in my 30s makes me start to feel restless and vulnerable.  Perhaps I'm not so safe after all.

Sometimes it worries me that I've never had a serious romantic relationship as an adult that has lasted for more than a few months.  If you divide my age by two, that indicates about how old I was at the time of my longest relationship.  And that relationship was interesting in its own ways; I was very hot and cold with my emotions, and sometimes I would completely ignore my boyfriend.

As an adult, knowing that I am an INFJ certainly explains my relational history.  And also terrifies me, because I realize my own insecurities, expectations, and romantic inactivity are reflections of my personality type.  I recently discovered an article on Thought Catalog that explains what kind of romantic partner each Myers-Briggs type goes after.  As for my type:

"Who you usually go for: No one, because everyone is going to hurt you. Even the ones you’re only mildly attached to, especially the ones you really really like. Once in a blue moon, you’ll meet someone who seems to have the potential to never screw you over. And you’ll put them on a pedestal until, eventually, they’ll let you down too."

Truer words have never been written.  I can feel deep romantic attachments, and yet I am an expert at making sure those feelings are never revealed.  I am excellent at creating imaginary scenarios and idealized realities in my mind, and that's where I retain all of the emotional energy I should be expending in the real world.  Part of the reason I spend all of that time in my mind is because my primary MBTI mode is introverted intuition, so I sincerely derive pleasure from daydreaming.  But part of me is terrified of getting hurt, because of past disappointments and pains inflicted by loves ones, and also because I know the depth of care I have for those I hold closest to me.  And loving someone that much who is not related to me by blood (I know my family loves me unconditionally) is the most vulnerable thing I could ever do.  In the beginning, it was even hard for me to open my heart to Tobin because I know the potential gravity of my attachments.

With loving a person comes being let down by that person.  And as a values-driven, perfectionistic INFJ, it's easier to not love anyone than to welcome that inevitable disappointment.  Cue the author's words above.  I don't want to be elderly and alone.  I don't want to be a crazy schnauzer lady.  I make jokes about that possibility, claiming I'm a has-been who will be surrounded in my advanced years by my flock of schnauzers.  But it's just a defense mechanism--a means of hiding how much I really do want to get married and my insecurities over the fact that I'm almost never in relationships.

Recently, a group of my friends told me I need to put myself out there by getting involved in new activities and being present at more locations where I have the potential to meet a romantic partner.  The introvert in me shudders and laughs at the idea of trying to be more "out there."  But the turning-30 part of me wonders if that's what I have to do if I have even the slightest hope of getting married.  It would be so much easier if my life turned out the way I narrated in my sixth-grade autobiography, and I meet my future husband when we reach for the same bag of dog food at the grocery store.  Too bad I buy Tobin's food on Amazon.