It's 1 am

I love the night. Night is like pianissimo moments of classical music, the quiet strains that are just as rich and varied as the blaring fortes, but gentler and subtler.

Then again, night is not all that quiet. The crickets strain their legs with chirping. Someone rolls out previously forgotten garbage cans. A large truck beeps as it backs up. My nails scratch the keys as I type.

It's 1:11 a.m., and I have no distractions: it's no use checking my email or voicemail. No new messages will have come in. News sources won't have updated their banners or top stories. There's nothing on TV. I'm not hungry. I can't do any chores without waking my roommate, so I sit in bed and type...to you. My first personal post in an eon.

This is where my nocturnal thoughts are drifting:

While in high school I longed for the day when my identity crisis would end and I'd know myself. Eleven years (!!) after graduation, I still have no idea. Leaving my past job has been a lifestyle change. No longer must I scan the international headlines or read up on various cultures and countries. There's an entire specialized database program and a book-length set of company-specific writing style specifications which I will never use again! Much of my training will inform and serve me the rest of my life. At the same time, my mental file drawers bulge with now-useless information.

At 1:25 a.m. on a Friday in July, I am a woman without a stable job or home or social circle (or so it feels), and I wonder who I am. Untethered by profession, or location, or relationship, I'm not sure how to make decisions. I applied for a job the other day--a job with great hours that would let me write on the side. But it's not a job I want. It's not something that will do anything more than pay the bills and fill my time. When planning my life, I often do not give enough attention to paying the bills. But it's a necessary thing.

My brother told me the other night about one of his favorite artists who has worked a series of restaurant jobs to support himself as he creates art in various cities. My brother told me about this artist to encourage me--that artists must take filler-jobs to keep themselves fed. So, do I take my version of the "restaurant job," or do I wait for something that will be more meaningful to me?

Someone will call me next week and tell me whether or not they want me to fill the position. If they offer, I think I'm going to have to say "no."

I wrote a post back in April about adventure--how everyday life can be an adventure if we are following where God leads. Am I being a hypocrite by refusing to see this prospective job as an adventure?

No? No. Because I think God has something "beyond anything I've thought or imagined," (pardon the paraphrase). I'm holding out for incredible. Or, at least, for better-than-boring.

It's 1:29. What do you think of my night time ramblings?

I love the night. In the last 33 minutes I have written and edited this post in total peace. The crickets are still chirping. Other than the distant roar of the freeway, I haven't heard any human-made noise in quite awhile. I feel alone in a very crowded neighborhood. In a few hours, kids will be scaling the playground equipment in the park across the street. Parents will scold from their blankets spread under the trees. The icecream man's truck will blare "Here We Go 'Round the Mulberry Bush" and "Pop Goes the Weasel" 1,842 times in succession. Dogs will bark. Doors will slam.

But now, at 1:50 a.m. it's quiet. I'm tired now, and I'm going to sleep, but I'm sad to miss the rest of the pianissimo.