I’ve sent out application after application to nonprofits, cities, and schools. I’ve got at least fifteen under my belt at this point. And I’ve heard back from none of them. That’s right. Nothing but crickets. Not even a form letter letting a misspelled version of my name know that the position has been filled.
But I keep trying. I just applied for a director position at a Des Moines non-profit, an entry-level political advocacy position in DC, and a grant-management position in Salone. There are three more opportunities. Three more chances to find some direction for this whirlwind. Or three more chances to wait on silence, silence, and more silence.
I’m trying to be positive, but my lucky letter opener hasn’t been used in years. I need some feedback.
I’m trying to keep my chin up, stop crying in grocery stores (seriously…sorry Shnucks), and trust that a Mother Goddess, karma, or qi has my number and plans to take this junkyard body somewhere these metal hands can make a difference and my heart can breathe again.
Sometimes, I believe in divine intervention with every ounce of my being. And sometimes everything seems recklessly chaotic. Everything fits together, every turn of the stream, every river bend my pocahontas eyes can’t wait to conquer. Every broken insect wing tells a story that I need to hear. Right now I’d like an aerial photograph, so I can see where I’m going.
But God grant me patience while that shiny silver knife waits for an envelope.