vocation.

Having to decide what I want to do with my life has been a challenge for at least the past six years, if not longer, you know, just looming in my mind like a ticking freaking time bomb. People ask you when you’re little what you want to be when you grow up, and it’s cute, right? But when you ask someone inching towards graduation, it’s not even close to cute. It’s cruel. I mean, really, how am I supposed to just fit neatly into a box like that? How am I supposed to decide that one passion is greater than another? Or that certain people are worth that much of my time, energy, strength and devotion while others are not? My heart is tender and I easily give it to people, but I can’t fight every fight, so what to do?

In the early months of 2009 I decided that, logically, the right answer was law school. It would give me access to public policy, and so I figured, hey, if you want justice then get your butt in there and fight for it. I still think that, logically, this sounds great! But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I am not a merely logical being. Law school never felt right, but I had no other brilliant ideas, so I just went with it for a while.

In November 2009, just before taking the LSATs and sending off all my neatly packaged applications, I went on a trip to Fort Benning, Georgia to the Ignatian Family Teach-In and School of the Americas Vigil. During a part of the weekend, there were a variety of breakout sessions for us to choose from, and so I went to “Social Justice in the Theater” because, well, it sounded interesting! During the presentation, it became crystal clear to me that art can open eyes, change perspectives, raise awareness, and educate people about just about anything under the sun. I totally had a light bulb moment—you mean I can pursue my love for English Literature and still fight for justice?! And then I thought about it: what makes me passionate about particular causes? Stories. Stories I read, stories I hear, stories I have lived through, stories I tell—stories. Narratives. Lives. Art is human expression. And human beings have the power to affect one another. Human narratives can change lives. Now, this, this made sense to my head and my heart.

Shit, now what? I was six months from graduation and was having serious doubts about my perfect little life plan. The obvious answer was to go ask the opinions of my three favorite teachers, and here are the two things they said that gave me the direction I needed:

1) “I think about my job as what I get to do not what I have to do”

2) “At the end of every day, I feel like I gave all the love I have to give… and I wouldn’t have it any other way”

I needed to find what could make me feel this way. I asked myself what would do this for me for the remainder of the school year until I realized:

At the end of a good book, I dream of a different world—one in which every human story, every human expression, every human narrative, every human LIFE is valued equally. I don’t think that everyone who reads these books dreams my dreams, but I do think that art allows room for dreaming. If we really immerse ourselves, with our own narratives in the forefront of our minds and hearts, into another human’s expression, something new is born within us. The idea of creating a space for people to dream, not my, but their own dreams—I could never ask for more.