From Burden to Invitation ~ Lauren Jackson

Lately, it feels like life keeps asking me all these big questions that I’m not ready to answer. Who are you, really? Where are you going? What’s next? I went on Fall Retreat hoping those questions would be a little quieter for a weekend. As a senior, the pressure to have a plan seems to follow me everywhere, and I was craving a pause from the constant background noise of major decisions and what happens after graduation.

Ironically, the theme of the retreat was all about figuring out who we are and where we are going. Basically, just a spotlight on the very questions that I’d been trying to avoid. During the sessions when we were invited to reflect on our identity and direction, all the worries I’d been pushing aside came rushing back. Instead of the peaceful, future-free weekend I imagined, I felt uncomfortable, frustrated, and more aware than ever of how uncertain everything feels right now.

As the weekend went on, the discomfort remained, but it softened. There was no lightbulb moment or epiphany where everything suddenly made sense, but instead a gradual settling through small, ordinary moments. A quiet drive. A conversation with someone I had only met that weekend. Letting myself really wonder and reflect in our silent reflection times. Every moment loosened something in me. And every time I sat in silence with my thoughts or in conversation with small groups, I noticed something different. Sometimes the questions felt heavier. Other times, they felt like an invitation instead of a burden.

There was a line in a reading we heard during the weekend, from David Whyte’s What to Remember When Walking, that kept echoing in my mind: “What you can plan is too small for you to live.” I had no clue what to do with that at first. I like plans. Plans feel safe. I find myself often reliant on steps and timelines to feel grounded and make the unknown feel just a little less intimidating. But throughout the weekend, that sentence kept circling back to me. It felt like a gentle nudge to loosen my grip on certainty and consider the possibility that maybe the life I’m meant to live is bigger than whatever checklist I’ve been clinging to.

By Sunday morning, nothing about my life had magically sorted itself out. I didn’t settle on a career path or have a revelation of where I’m “supposed” to end up. I definitely am still not a fan of the unknown. But something in me felt steadier. It was the first time in a long time that I truly allowed myself to acknowledge the uncertainty without immediately trying to outrun it. And in the simple act of sitting with my questions instead of demanding answers, I found a surprising kind of peace. I drove away from that retreat feeling, albeit exhausted, more like myself than when I had arrived. Not because everything made sense, but because I finally allowed myself to stop pretending like it should. If this retreat taught me anything, it’s that clarity doesn’t have to look like certainty. Sometimes it’s just showing up as you are – tired, overwhelmed, and unsure – and still trusting that it’s enough for now. You don’t have to arrive with answers. Sometimes you just have to arrive.

Lauren Jackson (she/her) is a senior studying environmental engineering.