Impatient and Imperfect Pilgrim

I tend to be impatient. I am impatient with time, with God and I am most impatient with myself. Impatience may be a bittersweet gift of my youth, a gift I often toy with. 

A small vignette of this summer could very well look like a young woman (me) flipping endlessly through her calendar, sitting a bit stiffly and sighing often. The irony? While this woman waits for August to arrive for graduate school, a larger part of her fears it.

Weeks before graduation I anticipated a summer full of science, family and some needed therapeutic work on my anxiety. However, as so painfully evident by this blog, my plans rarely seem to come to full fruition so here I stand trying to be grateful for the mixed bag given to me. 

I have between 10-20 hours weekly as your local barista and cashier. I keep reminding myself, through the great example of my parents' own life worth ethic, that I am deeply blessed for having a job at all. Mind you, your local barista (in training) is still the young woman in that vignette. 

In the greater point of things, I am starting to realize that it is okay to be in the shoes of the scared young woman once more. It is okay to think I am a little nuts to move across the country when just a few years back I was able to reunite with my family. Truman State was only a three hour drive, University of North Carolina is a 2 hour flight.