I Do A Pretty Good Paul Harvey Voice

I have a choice to make. But it’s not the choice you’re thinking of: I can either wait until I have the time to make this part of the story all pretty and reflective, or I can write the supafast straight-up version. Now, I’m not usually very good at making decisions, but—given the number of people who have requested and/or ordered me to hurry the heck up—this one seems pretty obvious.

Behold! (Paul Harvey voice)…the rest of the story! (/Paul Harvey voice)

(No, seriously. You have to stop imagining me talking like Paul Harvey now. It will distract from the narrative.)

At first, I had no idea what to do. I once heard a story about a beautiful European woman who had met this American guy while he was traveling in Europe, and she liked him but he thought he was going to be a priest, and by the time he figured out that he wasn’t going to be a priest and in fact was pretty sure he wanted to marry the European woman, she was already engaged to someone else, so he offered her a counter-proposal. Other than the part about being a beautiful European woman chased by flocks of men, I could sort of identify. Here were these two concrete, highly attractive, mutually exclusive opportunities, each with its own set of benefits and each—by virtue of excluding the other—with its own set of regrets.

And gosh, you guys. I struggled. A lot. I know it sounds crazy; there I was, with two wonderful possibilities in front of me and the only thing I could manage to feel was distress? As the staff director in my office put it, “I wouldn’t complain too loudly,” and of course he was right. In this economy, how many 23-year-olds are there with two potential situations in which to support themselves and do meaningful work in their chosen fields? Not very many. I have plenty of intelligent, talented, and motivated friends who are having a hard time finding one. My response should have been awed gratitude, not stress. And I was grateful, I really was. But I didn’t know what to do, and it weighed me down.

So I started praying, and didn’t really stop for about a week. And then I asked people for help. I emailed my mentors from college, my fellowship classmates, my best friend from home. I talked to my sisters and my parents and Lauren and David. Some of them offered their prayers, some served as sounding boards, some offered thoughtful and wise counsel. All were incredibly supportive, and I am truly grateful for their help and their love.

I hovered close to one decision for a day or two, explored some of the consequences, looked at apartments in College Town USA. I clarified details with the head of the grad department; I had dinner with my boss (new job boss, not current job boss) and talked the whole situation through with him. I mulled, and weighed, and hypothesized, and strategized, and generally made a mess of myself for four or five straight days.

And then gradually, the smoke began to clear. First came the peace of realizing that this really was one of those situations where either choice would have been a good one. I always always want to do the “right” thing and the idea of making the “wrong” decision petrifies me; it was liberating to realize that in this case I would be in a good situation either way. I’m pretty sure that one choice was arguably better than the other—at least, better for me, and that’s how I reached my ultimate decision—but neither one was bad.

I also realized that my initial instinct to take the offer and run was primarily rooted in the fear that I would never get another one. I was viewing these paths as mutually exclusive because I thought that if I stayed, if I turned down this chance to start doctoral school, the door to the academy door never open again. That fear was understandable, I think, given my personal experience, but fear is never a good reason to make an important decision. Especially when, as in this case, the fear in question is—to be perfectly frank—total nonsense. Graduate school is always there, I can always apply again, and the particular nature of my job would expose me to people and experiences that would radically expand the range of programs for which I could expect to be competitive. In fact, if there was a door that would be slamming shut in this situation, it was the Cool Job door. I would be walking away from a serious commitment—a commitment that I take very seriously by its nature, and only even began to consider leaving with the (albeit reluctant) blessing of New Boss—that would never be available to me again.

Still, there were compelling arguments to be made in either direction. Both opportunities were good, both would enable me to spend the next few years of my life developing my gifts and pursuing my interests. And I think I could have legitimately chosen either.

I chose to stay.