I would fire me if I were you

Over a month ago, as I sat on a rock that formed the foundation of a tiny Franciscan church and looked out over the waters of the Galilee, I shed some heavy tears at the realization that life back in Canada would most likely choke the life out of me. I wanted to think the best of my home country and my community, but I had an inkling that the extreme presence of mind, compassion, and determination that I was experiencing in the Holy Land would come under fire once I re-entered the Land of the Meaningless.

It turns out I was right.

The difficulty I face now is in living in a world that is full-blown obsessed with the inconsequential. It's not that I'm now so much wiser and holier than this kind of world and can no longer understand why other people participate in it; it's that I still find myself caught up in it, still find myself waging petty battles within it, and still can't escape it no matter how hard I try. I thought that imagining where I was and who I was in those places would ease the pain of these ridiculous workplace arguments and pointless relational struggles. I thought that organizing my mental notes on age-old world conflicts would realign my priorities. I thought that reading Potok and Herzl would restore my peace of mind and eradicate my social anxiety.

It turns out I was wrong.

I'm sick of worrying, and yet I worry.

I'm sick of arguing, and yet I argue.

I am frustrated with frustration,

confused by confusion,

and finally- disarmingly-

disheartened by hope.

The hope remains, but it has found some new opponents. The dreams have yet to die, but pettiness threatens to consume them; it scratches at the door to be let in.

But now I see raindrops on my screened window and hear the wind howl in the strategically planted trees of my neighbourhood. I feel the wilderness within my heart and the borders within my brain. I know the ease with which I could step into the current of the inconsequential and be swept along by the momentum of self-satisfied dissatisfaction. We are called to be in the world but not of it; we cannot give ourselves over to a thing which would consume us. But I cannot give myself over fully to a hope that would take away my 'livelihood', nor can I surrender myself to a lifestyle that would make a mockery of my dreams. Needless to say, I've become a shit employee.

Oh, the tension: theoretically satisfying, but practically flummoxing, and no Magic Bag in the world will loosen it.