Your own extraordinary.

BY HALEY TODD

Haley is a Social Work student at Auburn University, an Enneagram 1w2, and an obsessive eater of sweet potatoes. She loves writing words that help others believe more in Love, Goodness, and themselves. Someday, she wants to work in sustainable international development and help end the global migration crisis. For right now, she's interning at a refugee resettlement agency, learning to speak Arabic, and spending all her money on new tattoos.

As of this writing, I graduate college in 77 days. 

That’s 11 weeks to select the next step in a future that’s wide open. In high school, it was pretty much a given that after graduation, I would go to college. My decision was limited: pick a school, any school, that I’ve applied to, that has accepted me, and that works for my family financially. 

Now, as I finish up my Bachelor of Social Work, the realm of possibilities has become infinite. I could live at home, work at a bookstore, save up money for law school. I could move to Greece and serve with a refugee nonprofit. I could forge my own way in a city that’s entirely new to me, Seattle or Denver or Austin. I could pursue opportunities in a country that’s entirely new to me, Thailand or Lebanon or Austria.

Is it just me, or somewhere along the way, does an infinite list of options become terrifying?

From up in the air, I look to what my friends are doing. A few have accepted incredible job offers in New York City. Some are going to incredible grad schools. My roommate is engaged, getting ready for an incredible wedding and marriage. A close friend will move to Indonesia for an incredible internship in tourism. As I consider just how incredible their post-grad plans are, my comparison instinct starts to kick in.

In the midst of uncertainty, I envy their commitments. They knew, some of them as early as October or November, what they’d be doing once they walked across that stage in a cap and gown. 

Me? I keep confessing to people who ask about my post-grad plans, “No idea.” I spout off a rehearsed spiel about how eventually I want to go to law school and work in international human rights. But for the immediate future, I’m clueless, and I wish I wasn’t, if only so I could impress other people with my incredible plans.

Jealousy compels me to ask, Why wasn’t I a Finance, Apparel Merchandising, or PR major? Why don’t I have any impressive, well-paid job offers? Why did I choose this path that led me to a place of uncertainty and unextraordinary, in the eyes of the world and sometimes in my own mind? As I’ve asked these questions, my envy has snuck up on me and set its suitcase down in the living room.

Then one day, I walked by our bus loop, in the shadow of the massive football stadium. I don’t know what it was about that moment, but suddenly, it hit me: I don’t want to be a Business major gearing up for an entry-level position with an advertising firm in D.C. These incredible opportunities and plans I’m so jealous of? I would be miserable if I actually had them. So why am I even jealous in the first place? I’ve fallen for the trick, been convinced that I desire certainty, stability, a normal job, and a normal life. I’ve scrolled through the shiny Instagram posts and believed the lie that there’s only one form of extraordinary: an engagement ring by spring and a steady, well-paying, impressive job the second you have your diploma.

I’ve realized this: that’s simply not what my extraordinary looks like.

My extraordinary looks more like this: applying to year-long volunteer or internship positions all over the world, trusting God to provide the means and the money; entering into another long-distance phase with my boyfriend instead of moving back to our hometown; pursuing my passion for international justice when a thousand worries whisper doubt into my mind; honoring my desire to see the world and make my own way in it. 

This brand of extraordinary sounds cool when you put it like that, but in practice, it’s wobbly at best. It doesn’t look flashy on social media. It swims against the current of all that is easy and expected. When I think about it, my stomach feels a little queasy. When I’m asked about it, I want to shove the dream down. But somewhere inside, my heartbeat pounds a resounding YES, to this, my own extraordinary.

You may be in a similar season of life: early twenties, still trying to figure everything out, plenty of time to walk a path and then meander down a fork in the road. You may be a retired grandparent, wondering about the possibilities you haven’t seen yet. I have no idea where you are or where you’re going. But I hope that, in your journey, you find the courage and grit to pursue your own extraordinary. 

It may be finding joy in life’s minuscule, mundane moments. It may be up and moving your life halfway across the world. It may be parenting as best you can, through temper tantrums and toddlers taking their first steps. But don’t fall for the lure of Everyone Else’s Extraordinary. 

A job, a relationship, a location, a life that impresses everyone else, may not be best for you. I want to remind you: that’s more than okay. Their approval isn’t worth your pain. 

This world doesn’t need you to pursue other people’s extraordinary. This world needs you on fire. Because you, with all your quirks and shortcomings, all your misunderstood desires, all your shaky plans on firm foundations—you are extraordinary.