Friday Glances

Dear Boy at the iPhone Kiosk, 

You’re cute. 

That’s why I keep glancing at you, in addition to the fact that you keep glancing at me. I’m not particularly great at this whole “eye contact” thing yet. It’s an issue related to coming out of my shell. I’m bad about staring and looking around without any kind of intent and I’m used to blushing and looking down when someone thinks I’m looking at them. I’m usually not. I’m usually daydreaming or thinking and the person just happens to be in the path of that daydream. 

But not you, Boy at the iPhone Kiosk. You are cute and you are showing interest and I don’t know what to do with my face. Also, I have to eat lunch right now, so you’re getting treated to one of the more awkward activities I can undertake. I usually eat either where no one can see me or with friends, when I do more talking than eating. Rarely am I in public and trying to eat with grace. I definitely did not just fail to keep half a waffle fry in my mouth just then, no siree, not me. So that’s happening, and I would love to smile at you, but I can’t, because of the aforementioned food consumption. There’d be chicken everywhere. It would not help.

Plus, what do humans hope to get out of interactions like this? This always puzzled me. Like, you smile at a cute guy at the bar, or you glance more frequently than casualness would suggest is normal at the fine specimen of humanity across the way, and what do we think is going to happen next? Is that when they saunter over and buy you a drink and start a conversation? Possibly. But it’s noon. There are no drinks to be bought, nor non-business-related conversations to be had. And honestly, it’s not like we’re in the same social circles, Boy at the iPhone Kiosk. More than likely, I am a welcome distraction to the dullness of the midday lack of rush at the mall. 

On the one hand, that’s really nice. It’s nice to be found attractive by someone I also find attractive. It is the tiniest of nails in the coffin of my forever-aloneliness. If I can catch your eye, Boy at the iPhone Kiosk, the eye of a male who is of an age with me, then I could in theory do the same in another situation when we’re more likely to have a more positive and concrete outcome. It’s a little bit of an encouragement. 

But on the other, and very important hand, I’m not here to be looked at by you. I’m here because my car is in the shop and I couldn’t figure out the bus schedule and honestly, I’ve had some kind of morning, and it’d be nice if the universe could just give me my space. The only place that I truly want to be right now is home, curled up in my bed with my headphones in, listening to made up stories until either the daylight gives up or I do. And here we are, with an elementary school doing their holiday concert in the middle of the mall, the sound of applause oddly tinned and amplified through the speakers that carry it down the thoroughfare, with you glancing at me and me forgetting how to smile and it just seems ill-timed. I’m a pile of confusing signals, I know, and there’s a flash of annoyance at the back of my mind because there’s no good reason for me to interrupt my thoughts and day because you glance my way.

I thank you for your compliment, sir. You’re not creepily focusing only on me and you haven’t irresponsibly abandoned your kiosk and I appreciate both of those things. You’re not demanding anything from me, even though a solid decade of rom-com viewing is telling me otherwise. Anyway, I’m going to go move down toward the tables by the Christmas tree as I wait for my car to get done and if you get a lunch break, you should definitely come over. I’m much better with words than I am with smiles. Much better.

With interest,

Girl in the Grey Blazer 

Nebulas

I'm struggling a little with writing my personal statements. I honestly thought that these essays were going to be the easiest part of this whole process, so I attacked the other sections of the applications with a tenacity rarely seen. This led to a comprehensive list of references, several detailed emails, a thick envelope full of papers that certify that I did indeed graduate from college, and the unrolling of my diploma to see my exact graduation date. I even had a friend redesign my resume. Now, all that's left are these personal statements, and they're... difficult.

I want to be extraordinarily blunt and honest with my personal statements. I don't want to wrap up ideas and concepts and facts about me in metaphors and pretty sentences. I want the people reading my application to see my skills and my weaknesses and accept me anyway. If it was acceptable, I'd give them a pros and cons list and let them make the decision on their own.

But that's not what you do with a personal statement. You lead off with a hook, you give them three paragraphs about your life and your goals, and you sum up with some zinger of a conclusion. Bam. Done. Nothing should be easier. But writing these essays has been like swimming through a sea of doubts, if doubts were like vanilla pudding and swimming was dog paddling. That got away from me. What I'm saying here is that it's been hard.

Through all this, though, I think I've answered a question, or clarified a thought. Plenty of people have asked me what happened to law school and I have an answer for them now. See, law school requires a passion for law, and if law was my best option, I could find that passion somewhere. Same with teaching; if I was called, I would dredge up a passion for education that would enable me to be an effective teacher. I think that if I had decided on it fully, I could find a passion for astrophysics or economics or music too. But the thing is, I don't have to find that passion for the Church. I choose to be there, week in and week out. I choose to think about the Church and its place in the world. I choose to think about God and Jesus and the Holy Spirit and how these entities or ideas should affect my life. The most significant, defining moments in my life have all been tied to my faith and I want to explore this thing that gives my life significance, and then share what I learn with others. The passion is already there.

So that's what I've got. Now to dress up this nebula in sensible terms, which is not an impossible task, I think.

Planning- The Last

In a statement of 500 words or less, describe and reflect on your life journey and the vocational directions toward which you are pointed.

Oh, this is where I’m supposed to have an answer, isn’t it? Where I know where I came from and what I want to do in life?

Ugh. This is it.

I could lie, say that I have it figured out, that there is a call on my life, always has been, and that I’ll be a revolutionary pastor. Changes will come rolling down because of the Spirit sent to be a part of my existence.

I could be more honest, say that I’m not sure what the future holds for me, but getting a masters of divinity is the current best possible option for me. I’d write something dry, a considered opinion on why admissions officials should put my application in the acceptance pile, convincing you that I will succeed at your university. I’m good at that. 

I could write something from the heart. I could tell you that I have a burning passion for the Church hiding under layers of sarcasm and self-doubt. I want to believe that the world could be much worse and that we need to work to maintain and grow the good in the world. I could lead off with a story about a hero and close with a lesson from a villain because I believe that mistakes are not equivalent to complete breakdowns in your moral fiber. That essay would roll off your tongue and reach down into your soul and I could write that thing. But it wouldn’t say a thing about being accepted to your school, so we try again. 

Personal statements are odd, telling strangers your deepest hopes. Because that’s what I’m doing here- chasing my deepest hopes. It is odd to me that something I hold so dear, that lights up my life like a fairy glow in the distance, that I can trap in my hand but never hold, could be achievable and that your piles of paper and books could help me do that. I cannot imagine that there’s a place for my dreams in your system. 

But that’s what I’m betting on here. I think that your school will be the place where the deep hope I have grows into something real and tactile, something functional that spreads its light into the useful places of the world. I’m banking on the idea that you’ll help my hope-dreams live. That’s why I want to pay you all of this money, learn these things, make these connections, and jump through these hoops; I want my hope to grow. 

You understand that, right? 

You see that often? 

Listen, you trust me with your school’s name and I’ll trust you with my hope. It’s an agreement that you must make thousands of times each year. I can’t guarantee that this time it’ll be anything other than average, but I will work to make extraordinary things happen in this world, and I will work to make them start here, if you let me.

Thank you for your consideration.