Chaos Theory

I came home to Grand Rapids after graduating from college primarily because I was broke and had nowhere else to go. Though I love my family and have no complaints about the city, it wasn't exactly my first choice. It wasn't exactly screaming excitement. I saw my time here primarily as a holding yard, a place to get my job act together, make a little money, and then launch out elsewhere. I had no intentions to put down more roots. But as one job application after another fell through and my networking leads ran dry, I began to accept the reality that I might be in Grand Rapids for a little longer than I originally intended. I needed that rent-free bedroom. Still, I did not see it as a permanent move, merely a longer phase of transition.

The longer I live here, however, the more I realize that every decision I make either ties me tighter to my current location or keeps me ungrounded, and I can only hold those two movements in tension for so long. Floating in the middle is not helpful, nor is it fun. The problem is, I don't know what I want, and the timing of life does little to clarify things for me. I spent all summer, for example, filling out applications to jobs at publishing houses in several cities before finally giving up and accepting two less-than-glamorous part-time jobs in Grand Rapids. And of course, mere weeks after I do this, I hear back from, not one, but three publishing houses wondering if I'm still interested in a position. Why didn't those offers arrive a month or two sooner? Why did they have to come only after I've committed to staying at my current job for at least another six months? And should I have held out longer and waited? I have no idea. But my life might look very different right now if I had.

That's the thing about decisions. They have repercussions. They limit your options because when you choose one, you have to exclude others. Shocking news, I know. But it's more than a little paralyzing because I don't feel ready to limit my options; I don't feel ready to be tied down—to a place or a job or a community. What if I realize I want something else? Decisions that people make in this stage of life profoundly influence the trajectory of their future. You get a job in a certain place or a certain field, you marry a certain person, and your whole life spins out from that point. It's not necessarily a bad thing, but it often happens. When my parents were newly married, for example, my dad accepted an internship in Grand Rapids. They thought they would only be here for a few years. Twenty-two years later, here they are. Again, it's not a bad thing; I don't think my parents regret it. But it freaks me out. I don't feel prepared to make decisions with effects of that magnitude. I'm worried I'm going to unconsciously settle, like sand sifting to the bottom of a river, and I'm just going to stay here because the effort of moving will feel like too much work.

The reverse of this, however—choosing not to choose—is no kind of solution. Not being tied to anything or anyone, though it offers a kind of freedom, is isolating and ultimately unsatisfying. It leaves me few opportunities to invest in others or for others to invest in me. Earlier this fall, I was operating under the assumption that I didn't need to make any friends because I already have plenty that I love dearly. Sure, most of them live hundreds of miles away, but if I'm going to be leaving Grand Rapids eventually anyway, why should I bother acquiring more? Should it have come as any surprise that I eventually got lonely?

So how do I live fully in a place I want to someday leave? And if a good opportunity comes along that pushes my Grand Rapids roots deeper, should I reject it just because I'm afraid of getting stuck? These are the kinds of decisions for which college cannot prepare you. Who knows what small choices will end up changing the course of your life? Or perhaps influence it not at all. At the moment, most of my decisions, though I attempt to give them thoughtful consideration, feel largely arbitrary. I have no idea how anything will play out down the road. If I were being optimistic, I would say this was an adventurous notion. Unfortunately, I can't always be optimistic. Sometimes I'm just worried.

Maybe I'm thinking too hard about this. Maybe I should just relax and let life happen however it will. But I can't help feeling that I ought to hold more responsibility than this, that I need to be conscientious about the values and priorities that shape my choices. I don't want to live on autopilot. But just how one does this wisely, and without caving under self-induced pressure, I have yet to figure out. I feel unqualified. I suppose everybody is.