The IKEA of My Heart

I know this will come as a utter and complete shock to many of you readers, but I like to have a plan. I'm a typical, overbearing, A-type personality that finds solace in list making and life planning. I want to know where I'll be, what I'm doing, how much it will cost, why I'm doing it, and I like to know all of this at least six months in advance, in written form, preferably in triplicate. Who else but me would have a love affair with a backpack because it's basically a life plan in a bag? 

That being said, I am at point in my life where currently I have no plan.

None. 

Zip. Zilch. Zero. 

I don't even know when I will be able to have a plan again.

And I'm freaking out.

I'm not quite to the point of rocking myself to and fro in a dark corner of my room, but I have definitely consumed a concerning amount of Diet Coke and chocolate muffins in the past two weeks. My room is basically where all the Diet Coke cans of Leeds come to rest in peace. I'm thinking of naming them all. 

I have a myriad of options facing me and no idea where to turn. Do I stay on for my PhD despite the fact that I was turned down for funding? Do I defer my acceptance and reapply for funding? Do I go home with just my MA? Do I stay in England and get some insignificant job so I can live here awhile longer? Do I join the circus? Do I continue to bank on my acceptance letter arriving from Hogwarts? SO MANY OPTIONS.

On top of all of this, my perfectionist side is not pleased with my current grades. I'm not failing, but I'm certainly not excelling. I'm quite average at the moment. And this kills me. Which is why I'm forcing myself to admit my average-isity to you, my internet world. I want so badly to please everyone and make everyone proud of me. So many people have told me that they love following my adventures on Facebook, love that I'm living here, love that I'm furthering my education, love that they are living through me, and I'm incredibly scared and embarrassed to tell everyone that I'm not as amazing as they want me to be. I'm not a genius; I'm not supremely brave or awesome. I'm just me and I'm treading water right now.

I don't mean this in a 'Oh, woe is me, feel sorry for me and say nice things to make me feel better' kind of way. This is just an issue I'm wrestling with at the moment and admitting it is cathartic and helps me process.

I know, in my head, that this is all a part of God's plan. I know that this period of waiting and resting in the unknown will draw me closer to Him. He has never ever let me fall before and He certainly will not now. I know that, in a year, I will look back on this time and laugh at my frantic stressing, but that being said: now is a time of silence and questions. If my head could tell my heart what it knows, and truly make it believe its potency, that would be awesome. But my heart is way too plan-focused to accept that information right now. 

I think my heart is like the IKEA warehouse. Lots of numbers and aisles and organization. The unknown has no barcode, no shelf number, no pretty coloured bins in which to be placed. Instead, the unknown is like a rogue shopping cart dashing about in the warehouse of my heart careening into my nicely-organised life plan aisle, complete with odd, Scandinavian-named Budget Desks and Schedule Dressers, and messing up my decorative pillow display of Control. 

So there you have it. My confession. My deep, dark secret. It's raw and it hurts, but it's truly and authentically me and I'm proud of that.