And Then What?

At the beginning of this year, I chose THRIVING as my word for 2026. Not surviving. Not getting by. Not making the best of things. Not putting on a happy face and convincing myself everything was fine when everything was, in fact, not fine.

Thriving.

I was done with pain and suffering and settling. Done waiting for things to get better. Done accepting less than what I wanted for myself while simultaneously telling everyone else in my life that they deserved every wonderful thing the universe had to offer them.

This was going to be my year.

And now it's August.

So.

That's going well.

HA!

We're eight and a half months into the Year of Thriving, and lately I've been thinking I'd settle for the Year of Things Not Sucking Quite So Much.

I've applied for ten jobs in the last two weeks. The beginning of the school year hasn't gone the way I'd hoped. Money continues to feel like an exhausting game of Whac-A-Mole where every time I think we're finally getting ahead, another little thing pops up demanding money. Relationships require work. My back hurts. I don't feel particularly well. I'm tired.

And mostly?

I'm just really, really over it.

There.

That's the blog.

Thanks for reading, everybody. See you next week!

Except I don't want that to be the blog.

That's the problem.

I sat down to write this week and realized I don't want to write another essay about struggling. I don't want to tell you how sad or angry or frustrated I've been and then spend 1,500 words excavating my feelings until I uncover some inspirational nugget buried beneath them.

I don't want to take another crappy experience and turn it into a life lesson.

I don't want another life lesson.

I don't want to learn anything from this.

Can't it just suck?

Seriously.

Why does every difficult season have to teach us something? Why does every disappointment need to redirect us toward something better? Why must every closed door lead to the right one? Why does grief have to make us stronger? Why does pain need a purpose? Why must adversity build character?

I've got character. I would like some peace now, please. Thank you very much.

And I know how that sounds.

Because I know how blessed I am. I have people I love. I have a home. I have work. I have opportunities. I have friends who show up for me. I have a family. I have faith. I have experienced extraordinary kindness and joy and beauty in my life.

I know that. I am grateful for that.

And I'm tired.

Those things are both true.

Coincidentally—or perhaps not—today's Sunday School lesson was about Job.

You know Job? The guy whose life essentially became the biblical version of, "Oh, you think that's bad? Hold my drink."

He lost nearly everything. And through it all, he remained faithful. There's something beautiful about that. There really is.

But sometimes I think we sanitize Job's story when we turn him into the poster child for smiling through adversity.

Because Job suffered. Job grieved. Job lamented. Job questioned. Job wanted answers. At one point, Job wished he'd never been born. The man was not wandering around saying, "What a wonderful opportunity for personal growth!"

And yet he remained faithful.

I've been thinking about that today.

Maybe faithfulness isn't the absence of frustration. Maybe gratitude doesn't require pretending we aren't disappointed. Maybe trusting God doesn't mean we're never allowed to look toward heaven and say, How much longer?

Maybe I can know I am blessed AND want things to change. Maybe I can love my life AND be deeply unhappy with parts of it. Maybe I can be grateful AND angry. Maybe I can trust God AND wonder what in the world He's doing. Maybe I can have faith AND admit that I'm tired. Maybe I can believe something better is coming AND be really, really frustrated that it isn't here yet.

That's the And.

And maybe that's what I've forgotten.

When I chose THRIVING at the beginning of this year, I think some part of me believed I was making a declaration about what 2026 was going to become.

Enough surviving. Now we thrive.

And I've spent eight and a half months waiting for the evidence.

Where's the success? Where's the security? Where's the peace? Where's the part where everything starts working?

When is it my turn?

I've asked some version of that question a lot lately.

When is it my turn to get ahead? When is it my turn to have the job I actually want? When is it my turn to stop worrying so much about money? When is it my turn to feel successful? When is it my turn to be happy?

And then another question showed up.

One I liked considerably less.

AND THEN WHAT?

Oof.

Because apparently I've spent a whole lot of time thinking about what I want to happen next without considering what happens after next.

A new job? Okay. I've had new jobs.

And if I'm willing to be painfully honest with myself, I have a pretty established pattern of getting excited about the shiny new thing until the shiny new thing becomes the regular old thing. Then I start noticing everything that's wrong with it and wondering whether there's another shiny new thing somewhere else.

So is it money? I've made more money before. I wasn't magically happier then.

Would winning America's Favorite Couple and $20,000 do it? I mean, I certainly wouldn't turn it down. Let's not get ridiculous.

But then what?

Twenty thousand dollars could solve some problems. It could give us some breathing room. It could create some wonderful experiences. But eventually the money would be spent.

And there I'd be.

Still me.

So what exactly am I waiting for?

What is "more"? I say it all the time.

I want more.

I believe I'm meant for more.

Great.

More what, Jere?

More money? More recognition? More success? More influence? More creative opportunities? More freedom? More security? More connection? More intimacy? More peace? More belonging? More purpose? More time? More joy?

Because those aren't the same thing.

And maybe I've spent a lot of my life using achievement as currency to purchase things achievement cannot buy.

A better job might give me more money, flexibility, stimulation, freedom, or respect. It cannot make me feel connected to the people I love.

More money might relieve financial pressure. It cannot create contentment.

Winning something might make me feel chosen or celebrated. It cannot permanently convince me that I'm worthy.

Success might make other people admire me. It cannot guarantee that I feel known.

And that's uncomfortable to admit.

Because changing circumstances is something I understand.

You identify what's wrong. You make a plan. You fix it. You get the new job. You earn more money. You accomplish the goal. You win the thing.

Problem solved.

Except apparently I've been asking external solutions to solve internal problems, and those poor fools were never qualified for the job.

Maybe there are actually two different things I've been trying to fix:

I want my circumstances to change.

And:

I want to feel okay inside my own life.

Those are not necessarily the same project.

And to be VERY clear, I am not about to turn this into some argument that circumstances don't matter and happiness is entirely a choice.

Sometimes things suck because they suck. A bad job doesn't become a good job because you make a gratitude list. Financial stress is real. Loneliness is real. Pain hurts.

There are things in my life I genuinely want to change, and I don't think wanting them to change makes me selfish, ungrateful, faithless, or broken.

I'm still applying for jobs. I'm still trying to improve my circumstances. I'm still trying to build the life I want. I'm still going to want things. I'm still going to want more.

But maybe none of those things can be given the impossible responsibility of finally making me okay.

Because maybe that's the cycle I've been stuck in.

When X happens, then I'll be happy.

X happens.

Happy visits.

Happy leaves.

I select a new X.

Repeat.

Son of a...  Maybe THAT'S the suck-cycle!

And now I'm wondering whether I've misunderstood THRIVING from the beginning.

Maybe THRIVING was never supposed to mean: This is the year I finally get the life I want. 

Maybe the question hiding underneath that word has always been: What life do you actually want?

Not what job. Not what salary. Not what house or car or title or prize or accomplishment.

What do I want it to feel like to be me inside an ordinary Tuesday?

That's a much harder question.

Do I want peace? Connection? Purpose? Security? Freedom? Joy?

Do I want to feel known? Do I want to stop believing I have to accomplish something before I'm allowed to feel proud of myself? Do I want to stop treating happiness like a prize I'll finally earn if I work hard enough? Do I want to be able to want something different without needing to hate what I have?

Maybe I don't have to hate here to want there.

And maybe wanting more doesn't require me to believe that what I already have isn't enough.

I don't know.

And, dammit, we're getting dangerously close to learning something from this, which was specifically NOT what I wanted to do.

So I'm going to stop.

Because I still don't have the answer.

I don't know exactly what "my turn" means. I don't know exactly what "more" looks like. I don't know whether a different job or more money or some giant unexpected opportunity is around the corner.

I hope some of those things are. I'd happily take them!

But I am beginning to suspect that if I'm waiting for my circumstances to align perfectly before I give myself permission to be happy, I'm going to be waiting a very long time.

Maybe THRIVING isn't about finally arranging all the furniture of my life correctly enough that I can sit down, look around, and declare: There. NOW I can be happy.

Maybe thriving means learning how to fully live the life I'm in while I'm still moving the furniture.

Maybe.

I'm not ready to put that on a mug just yet. 

For now, I think I'm going to sit with the question I didn't particularly want to ask:

When I say I'm waiting for "my turn"...

My turn for what?

Because if I can't answer that, I'm not sure I'll ever recognize it when it comes.