In Father of the Bride, Steve Martin is disgruntled to meet his son-in-law to be, the man his smart, gorgeous firstborn daughter meets in Europe. It’s bittersweet for him to scoff that the guy’s an independent communications consultant. Independent? That means he can’t get a job!
Nineties rom-coms are my heart’s song. We’ll have to talk later. Over hot chocolate. And Meg Ryan.
For this dad it’s bittersweet to have ammo for exasperation, yet…exasperation. What’s been bittersweet for me today is, well, a lot of things. A lot of really sweet. Not exasperating. 😂 Isn’t it funny how just tiny drop of bitter can be such a barnacle in comparison? Relatively light, barely even noticeable, yet somehow so sticky in the most impish way. My advisor/main professor/the driver of my entire major program is retiring and moving away. It hit me more as I sat in the patio of a restaurant down the street where our comm department held a retirement reception for her. Maia’s leaving, and who else would be the wings and pillars of this teeny tiny, vague and magnificent thing called multimedia?
The trees were my favorite color. Every gold-lit stroke of green in the summery waning light. I interrupted chatting with my friend Daniel to take a picture of it. Then it seemed that the sky was also nice and gosh the market lights were so trendy and calm. Oh and you know, not to mention beloved professors of mine.
Ironies tend to be confirming in a way.
Like character foils, they heighten the most notable things to be revealed, so we don’t miss them. I got a phone call tonight about not getting a job. It’s okay; it was pretty funny—they were so sure I didn’t want it (and they were kinda [really] right). At first it sounded like the very sweet woman meant to say I had gotten the job and I was trying to think fast about how to request some time to think.
“It’s just such a good thing to be a part of and it seems like your goal,” she said about my internship. (That’s another post for another time.) The ironic thing is though my time there is ending next week, I was happily drafting up an email of reminders/unfinished business for my incredibly lovely successor to have handy—complete, of course, with a small note of how glad I am it’s her that I get to pass it on to.
I lettered my professor Maia a kind of stupid note. A real one of congratulations and thanks, but on baby sketchbook paper and scantily without an envelope. To my childish delight she loved it and told me a fun project she’d thought of was creating a greeting card line with my lettering and her macro photography. “Keep in touch! I want to know how you’re doing.”
“What’s life and work without passion?” I said to my best friend after the phone call. I’m not worried about the future but everything today seemed like a marble in a box. You hold a wooden box with a gleaming marble in it. It has weight to it and doesn’t bounce, and childhood tingles in your forearms, rolling it back and forth to fit in little divots. It knocks against the hearty walls of woodgrain, and you know it’s substance; you know it’s movement.
But where’s it supposed to go? No new routes are clearly foreseeable, but liveliness is a thing to behold and recognize and keep close. For me that liveliness is little projects coming up here and there, new friends and excited suggestions of dinners and making art together. I feel invigorated just typing that out.
My dad and I were talking adulthood and future plans last weekend, and I’m overjoyed at the contentment God’s placed in my heart with enjoying just this moment, being flexible to the season. I don’t know what I’m doing after I graduate. I’m not concerned with racking up internships for my resume. Quite the opposite, I’m set on fighting that sort of business-suit fretting.
Why don’t you become one of those freelance people?
Dada said. I laughed and said, “I basically am one of those people,” and the Father of the Bride scene came to mind. “If you say you’re a filmmaker, you’re a filmmaker!” my professor Jake said today. Nobody else really gets a say. You just do, and you give and speak life, and if that’s not your deal, well, people can smell it on ya—when you talk, and you’re not there. Especially so young. But if the golden hours of life are your game, I have every drop of faith you’re on your way to meeting some of the most beautiful, brave people you never imagined could relate to you in, well, personhood. That’s my epiphany of 2014-2015.
Love and vigor exists in this broken world, and it’s a very general statement to say, but I’d like to use my time on the real thing, and not lay soul to waste on counterfeit, when I haven’t asked what the Lord would have of me. There’s so much hope and my God provides. Painting and writing and just encouraging. Maybe we’ll have to untangle the curious taste of bittersweetness another time.
I don’t know why He’s calling me away from a few things that have been deep loves, but I know His love is the deepest. I can’t lose while being close to His side, and I will happily use my time in beholding the life He gifts me with. If a “title” with the word “free” in it might be my Heavenly Father-chosen calling, gear up because I’m excited for every surprise.