Cliff Diving

I planned to start blogging again after I finish grad school this May. In typical Jeri fashion, I'm working ahead to finish starting early. You read that correctly; I am finishing starting early. In the wise words of my soul sister Leslie Knope, "If you're not going to finish something three months early then don't accept the job."

I tracked my last blog post back to three days before I started my master's program. I have spent the past two years trapped inside a busy mind that has had more to say than ever, spending all of my time reading textbooks written by men with impressive beards and tweed coats and writing thousands of pages of material that will earn me a piece of paper stating that I am qualified to be a therapist. The bittersweet part of preparing yourself to work with other people's mental health is the blunt realization that you must first be aware of your own. The awareness of self is basically Counseling 101. Before I could study other people, first I had to study myself, and so it all began. Two years ago I was comfortable: stuck in all things familiar and methodical, but comfortable. I was and still am the epitome of an organizer/planner. I calculated every move before I made it and there wasn't one shelf in my apartment undusted. I knew what each day would look like and never had to worry about missing car keys, being out of milk, or any other inconvenient phenomena that comes along with an unkempt lifestyle. Little did I know I was living in a self-induced prison, albeit an immaculate prison much like Magneto's in X-Men, convincing myself and everybody around me that I was a successful, effective person. But I wasn't. I had quarantined myself through intensive planning and structure from all experiences that would cultivate a life worthy of the adjectives successful and effective.

I ignored the frequent longings I had for adventure and the daunting loneliness that settled on my heart each night. After all, my life was fantastic. I was married to a man inconceivably greater than anything I could imagine and I was blessed with the opportunity to pursue the only career I have ever been passionate about. What could be wrong? It wasn't long before my lack of self-actualization began scratching at the door of my soul and coping with it via academic achievement and washing the dishes only seemed to exacerbate the restless sensation. The scratching became louder and more persistent and eventually the fear of staying the way I was outgrew the fear of changing my ways. A God-ordained journey was set in motion and I haven't looked back. I haven't wanted to.

I am currently right in the middle of what I believe to be the change process that will result in me experiencing life the way it was meant to be experienced: jumping in puddles of mud, getting dirty, and enjoying it. I want to run out of milk. I want to lose my car keys. Dead in the center it is too late to turn back and I still have a long way to go. God continues to thrust me forward into situations beyond my control, forcing me to face my lifelong fears and encouraging me in all sorts of ways not to cope with it like I used to by tidying up and pretending. I don't want to quarantine myself anymore. I was lonely and miserable. I am 51% voluntarily stepping and 49% being violently pushed into a new phase of bravery and authenticity that the Lord is going to use to show me who I really am and what I am made of so that I can help show others who they really are and what they are made of.

Holley Gerth has inspired me to "be courageous and write in a way that scares me a little." I hope to document my journey and fill this blog with honest stories and fearless confessions about this bright, young thing that is my insuppressible life.

Join me!