Whoa, whoa, whoa. What was WITH me yesterday?

Maybe you could tell from the blog, maybe not – but I seriously lost my mind for a few hours in the afternoon. Upon further introspection, I blame it on the fact that my life is completely out of balance.

I spend 8-9 hours each day in complete solitude at a desk. Those of you who have come to visit me at work know that I’m not joking – it is dead silent. No one – no, seriously, no one – is around; everyone else works back behind a heavy glass door, and I rarely see a soul. As a strong introvert, I’m probably able to handle this kind of isolation better than most. But… I while away the hours over-analyzing the lack of purpose in my life, and exploring the vacuous far-reaches of the internet – which, by the way, I’m pretty sure that I found the outer limits. I have now seen the entire World Wide Web.

Then, when the whistle blows, I leave work and rush off to a variety of social engagements, throwing myself into “extroversion” mode, and staying out way too late most nights.

It’s like jumping from a hot tub into a snow bank, rolling around, and then jumping back in: TOTALLY PAINFUL. Extremes are not good – and currently, I feel like a pendulum swinging back and forth, back and forth. It’s clear to me that something needs to change.

It would be awesome to have a real job. One with a salary and benefits. One in which I’m contributing to something. One that I like. One in which I am saying more than “Thank you for calling…” and “One moment, please.” One that utilizes my gifts – because I have them! I do have gifts.

Not to knock the temp job, because as far as temp jobs go, this one is pretty sweet. But ultimately, it’s not a good thing for a girl’s main goal each day to be “post a blog.”

Who wants to hire me?

No, for real. The search is on. Let us pray.

Imagine that I weigh 300 lbs. Got it? Okay. Now imagine that I have a sprained ankle. And asthma. And flip flops on my feet. And it’s 113 degrees outside.

Now, put me in the middle of a pack of marathon runners with fabulously long legs and handy water bottle packs strapped around their waists. They’re all stretching and high-5ing each other, shaking out their limbs, ready to kick some serious road race booty. Then the shot sounds, and they’re off… and I am aiming to keep up with them for 26.2 miles.

That’s a little bit how I feel when it comes to songwriting in Nashville.

Nashville is where really good songwriters live. This is where people come to make a career out of writing songs. They are gifted, and skilled, and practiced. They are amazing. They are transcendent. And while I know that songwriting is anything but effortless, they make it look effortless – like someone who is born to run, gracefully bounding like a gazelle. And I’m heavily slogging far behind, huffing and puffing, barely able to put one foot in front of the other – let alone master the bar chords.

Sometimes I wonder why I thought it was a good idea for me to move here – HERE, of all places! – when I really had no idea what I was doing. I am an amateur, a novice – at the shallow end of the talent pool, splashing around because I love the water, but never able to venture beyond the 3 foot depth mark.

True, in theory, I moved here to Nashville to learn. But the learning comes slowly. It takes time, and it takes work. To be honest, I’ve never really had to work for anything in my life. As a child, school came easily. Friends came easily. Music came easily – that is, up until now. If anything did not come naturally, like, oh, ANY PHYSICAL EXERTION WHATSOEVER, then I simply did not do it. I hate the feeling of doing something poorly, and so I have avoided situations in which I might fail.

Logical Annie says, “It’s not a competition. You do not have to be perfect. You have something unique to offer. You just need to keep working at it. Good ideas will come. Good songs will come. You’re growing and improving, even when you don’t feel like it. This is all an adventure, a grand experiment, and it’s a good thing you’re here.”

Gloomy Annie says, “Maybe I should just move to Nebraska.”

At the beginning of 2007, I had plans for my life. These dreams included a variety of comforts: relationships and love and meaning, income and stability, smiles and music and laughter. I dreamed of a tidy existence, from a job that I loved all the way to a front-loading, designer-color washer and dryer. I had mastered the art of keeping everything under control, including my reputation, my caloric intake, and my hair-do. I was fun at parties. People liked me. I giggled and grinned and elbowed and had terrific posture. Let’s be honest: Annie Parsons had it goin’ on.

But all of a sudden, through a variety of circumstances, I found my plans dissolving. I panicked as I thought, “My life is so not turning out the way that I planned.”

And then and there, Jesus took my hand and said, “Follow me.”

For the past year or so, I have been on a bizarre journey – one in which I have felt alternately fully alive and totally numb, inspired and despairing, buoyant and lead-like. I gave up my life of comfort and security, heading out into the unknown and keeping my eyes open for whatever I was supposed to see.

Most of the time, I have had no idea what I should be looking for.

Those closest to me have sometimes been confused. I have been confused.

Do not be fooled by my usually-sunny blog persona. I must tell you that I am currently walking through a hard, hard time. I would call it a “rough patch,” except for the fact that rough patches don’t include inconsolable sobbing and emotional paralysis. Rough patches do not include sitting at a green light, staring straight ahead, oblivious to the fact that I am blocking traffic. No, this is more than a rough patch. This is the desert, arid and lonely.

But I am beginning to suspect that this is not an accident. No. I believe that I have been led into this desert for a purpose. I have been progressively stripped of all of the things that I have looked to for meaning and comfort, and now it’s just me: poor and wretched, but somehow beloved. Can it be?

We live in a culture with a quick-fix mentality: when the going gets tough, shoot some tequila and buy a new pair of shoes. (Yahoo!) But maybe sometimes we’re just supposed to dwell in the desert – to engage the hard questions and to develop a thirst and to simply let it be.

I believe that I have not been abandoned in the desert. I believe, I believe, I believe. This is a season. And when it’s over, I will look back and see the fingerprints of God all over every part of the journey.

Hosea 2:14-15:
Therefore I am now going to allure her. I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her. There I will give her back her vineyards, and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. There she will sing as in the days of her youth, as in the day she came up out of Egypt.

We interrupt this 4-day series to bring you a special report.

Annie Parsons, the author of this blog, is feeling emotionally despondent.

Many things are to blame for this current lack of enthusiasm about life. It all started with her DNA strand, making her exceptionally susceptible to The Funk. But genetics are not fully at fault, as Annie has clawed her way back up the downward spiral many times before. No – this is different. This is largely a CIRCUMSTANTIAL downheartedness.

Consider the facts:
- Annie hates change.
- Annie hates transition.
- Annie loves feeling in control.

And:
- Annie’s life has been nothing but change lately.
- Annie’s life has been in constant transition for at least 9-months now.
- Annie feels out of control.

In a recent message to a friend, Annie said,
“It’s like this: the minute [this season of life began], someone pulled the plug at the bottom of my spirit. Everything felt fine for the first little bit, but now, all of a sudden, I’m like, I’M SPIRITUALLY BANKRUPT! HELP ME! HEEELLLLP MEEEEEE!! This [season] has felt equivalent to a month of Sundays. Actually, no – a month of Mondays, with PMS, and really bad hair. And I want to run screaming out the door.”

Annie knows that she will be alright. She always is. But today, she is praying for some little miracle, some small hopeful sign that will lift her spirits. She realizes that this is a prayer worth praying, because the last time that she prayed this prayer – in the midst of a heart-shredding day last year – she found out that there was an H&M a few blocks from the place she was staying.

In the meantime, she is putting one foot in front of the other.

My apologies for the virtual soul-barf of this post. I wish that I could be peppy all the time, and spread warmth and goodness and bubbles everywhere I go. But for right now, this is where I am. I hesitate in posting my gloom for you all to read, but I know that it’s important for me to write, even when it’s ugly. Thanks for reading despite my grungy reality.