Last Shift

February 9^th, 2017.

I wasn't ready to share this before. And then I wasn't able to type much for a long time. But here.

I just worked my last ever shift as a cashier. I laughed with people, I ran for people, I circled things on receipts for them. When the people were gone, and I wiped down the surfaces again, I kept hearing myself whisper, “Goodbye.”

Goodbye, metal counter. Goodbye, ray-gun. Goodbye, red laser well. Goodbye, ugly phone.

My Collin told me, when I cried quitting our first teaching job, that you can lose a place, but you never lose the person you became for it. I can lose my store, but I can’t lose me.

I was never cut out for this.

I never got “mentally tough.” 

I never learned to read 100% which people wanted me to not be a person that day. I never stopped being a person.

I never got where I didn’t make mistakes. My speed and efficacy were directly dependent on how much caffeine was in my system, and I wondered frequently if I’d handed back a check or a coupon or someone’s $20 and whether I’d have a job in two weeks.

I was never good enough, but that was okay. Because every interaction, every glob of change, I was reaching out for help. I was thanking Him for every chance I had to be here, praying for the things I couldn’t fix, asking for help fixing what I had. It got to be where every moment became worship, and every hour fed my battered soul.

I was never cut out for this job, but I gave my all, and it was good enough.

It matters, because I know what’s next, and I'm not cut out for it either. I get scared. I’ve watched me fall like a house of cards.

The thing is, maybe I'm never going to be enough. And maybe that's okay.

Maybe I can go on without being enough.