"The stories we tell ourselves about the public past shape how we interpret and respond and show up for the present," Rebecca Solnit says. "The stories we tell ourselves about our private pasts shape how we come to see our personhood and who we ultimately become. The thin line of agency in victimhood is drawn on how we tell these stories."
Since I left uni, I've taken up a series of contract jobs in my industry. But recently, the bouncing from contract to contract has had me feeling unstable. Above the necessities of paying rent and having a daily routine, it has felt like an anchor is constantly uprooted in a time when I ache for certainty.
Earlier this year, talk of intergenerational warfare cropped up again and again in the mainstream media. The Guardian released an investigative series on the matter. They pulled out statistics on how it is harder for millennials for find long-term partners; to secure full time work; and how difficult the transition is from share-house renting to owning property.
In Australia, well, at least in Sydney, statistics show that while people used to pay a third of their income in rent. In parts of Sydney's inner rim, some can pay up to half their income on the place. The housing bubble locks many young people out of the property market.
Around the same time, The Monthly published a piece about millennials fighting the 'Boomer supremacy'. It linked the inaccessibility of late night culture to that of the housing market. It also said that in today's job market, young people take an average of five years after tertiary qualifications to get a job in their industry.
I've had many conversations with people on the issues. Some of them are with old church friends who feel uncomfortable when they see their friends getting married and buying houses with partners. They feel like their own lives pivot on fewer anchors.
Others are frustrated by casual and contract positions. They might be in their second year of applying for jobs and - having considered the lack of options working "in their passion" - have taken daytime office jobs, hoping to complete their creative pursuits outside of work hours.
My friends voice similar concerns. They see we live in the age of opportunity, freedom, and possibility. They can travel the world, rent an AirBnB and have no pressure to start a family. But many desire the anchors of stability: partners, jobs, homes. I resonate with these. I want life to be stimulating, exciting, challenging - but sometimes, also a little still.
Shallow desires
I've been wondering about whether the desire for these anchors is a middle class, shallow desire. Is it possible for me to live each day and just trust for the right outcome? I remember Jesus's words, "while foxes have holes and rabbits have burrows, the son of man has no where to lay his head." Is this where we trust God for our daily needs?
In her book Hope in the Dark: Untold Histories, Wild Possibilities, Rebecca Solnit posits a notion of hope in modern civic engagement. She reflects on the progress of the #BlackLivesMatter movement, and the power of incremental change in a world that demands immediacy.
"Hope locates itself in the premises that we don't know what will happen and that in the spaciousness of uncertainty is room to act. When you recognize certainty, you recognize that you may be able to influence the outcomes."
The stories we tell ourselves are powerful, you can listen to a Hollywood therapy session to learn that. But what struck me most about Solnit's writing had to do with the stories we tell ourselves about our public past: the collective stories we believe.
In Christendom, we subscribe to a collective story – one that is rooted in hope across time and space. And applying hope to reality, that is seeing something that isn't there and believing for the good to come out of it, is the very essence of faith.
Emma Froggatt has kept a number of blogs for a number of years, and is learning to put her name to what she writes.
Emma Froggatt previous articles may be viewed at http://www.pressserviceinternational.org/emma-froggatt.html