I Don’t Actually Know What Thriving Looks Like Just Yet

I keep saying I want to thrive—but the truth is, I don’t actually know what thriving looks like just yet. What I do know is what thriving isn’t. I know what I’m done accepting and putting up with. I know what surviving has felt like, and I know what no longer fits.

There’s a lot of discomfort in ambiguity. In uncertainty. In the unknown. Taking a leap of faith is terrifying as hell. Just watch that scene from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade and you’ll know exactly what I mean.

I’ve lived this before—most clearly when I made the shift from the classroom into administration. I was presented with an opportunity to go and do great things, but it required a massive leap of faith: leaving a job I loved mid-year for something that promised broader impact and bigger change for kids on a larger scale.

That decision came with countless hours of praying, crying, and pleading with God to “give me a sign” or “tell me what to do.” No clear answer ever came. And eventually, I realized something important: God doesn’t actually care which choice we make. He’s going to be there supporting us no matter what we choose.

Whatever road we take, lessons will be learned. We will be tested. We will grow. Sometimes the only way to learn you’re on the wrong road is by starting down it. That’s why U-turns exist.

I didn’t make the wrong choice by leaving the classroom. I learned a tremendous amount by making that choice—for better and for worse. I spent four years in administration that taught me many wonderful things. I met great people. I gained valuable experience. And I’m grateful for all of it.

Being fired from that job taught me even more—hard, painful, life-altering lessons.

I was let go without warning and without reason. No explanation. No feedback. Just, “Your services are no longer needed.” That messes with you. You start wondering if you were terrible at your job—or too good at it. You replay everything. You spiral.

It’s only with time and distance that I can say this: I’m grateful. Truly. I’m grateful my world exploded. This past year taught me more about resilience, survival, and God’s presence than anything else in my life.

Every step of the way, He was there. Walking beside me. Letting me lean on Him. Letting me yell, blame, complain, and question. And patiently showing me—over and over again—how He was sustaining me and my family through one of the hardest experiences we’ve ever faced.

Trying to find a job after being fired is supremely humbling. Checking that box on applications. Being asked, “Why were you fired?” And having to answer honestly, “I don’t know.” Seeing the doubt flicker across an interviewer’s face—that’s hard.

There’s also a lot of fear wrapped up in the idea of choosing wrong.

Leaving the classroom was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. I prayed. I cried. I sought advice. I made pros-and-cons lists. I prayed harder. I cried more. I begged. Then I made the choice—and hoped it was “the right one.”

But here’s what I’ve learned: it doesn’t actually matter which choice you make. Whatever choice you make is the right one, because it will teach you something. You’ll grow. You’ll learn whether to keep going—or make a U-turn.

It’s less about right versus wrong and more about perspective. There’s a surprising amount of peace in that, once you let it sink in.

I think we also have to fight the urge to rush clarity. Instead, we settle into the choice we’ve made and trust ourselves enough to learn from it. None of us enter a situation hoping it will fall apart. But anxiety has a way of making us wait for the other shoe to drop.

When I remember that the Lord has never failed me yet, I can breathe a little easier. I can lean into trust—even when it’s uncomfortable.

So maybe thriving isn’t something I figure out.

Maybe it’s something I learn by paying attention. By being observant. By trusting myself to use the mind God gave me to gather information, weigh options, and make the best decision I can—then grow from whatever comes next.

If I really believe I’m made in the image of my Creator, then I have to trust that He’s equipped me with a sound mind and the ability to choose—and that He’ll meet me wherever I land.

But that’s just my two cents.