Bright colors flashed on the backdrop of a black sky and softly faded as the sound finally reached my chest. The time between the seeing and hearing varied depending on the distance, and sometimes that time was too short for my comfort. In every direction, for as far as I could see, and as close as I could smell, the warm night air erupted in burning sulfur. NYC’s Fourth of July fireworks were visible a few miles away, but, though their budget was larger, our attention was given to the neighbors’. Every rooftop in Brooklyn was crowded, and as many were observers, there were participants. Families gathered together in parks, kids fired off bottle rockets in the streets. It was 11pm and everyone was still about. No outsider would assume that most of this was illegal. And I guess that’s New York. The rules are recommendations. There’s a spirit of independence, a disdain for authority. The graffiti that covers the buildings, the trash strewn across the streets, the makeshift sprinklers from opened hydrants, it all screams “I do what I want!” And yet, as disrespectful as it is, there’s something I respect about it. It’s honest. It doesn’t care what you think. It doesn’t try to make you comfortable. And if you can’t handle it, you can leave – many do. But for those who overcome the chaos, the opportunities are endless.

Maybe that’s what drew me here. Maybe it was that stark contrast between the strict, authoritative culture of Dubai. Maybe it was the authenticity of its residence. Whatever the reason, I came.

For three months I worked in a small structural engineering firm. The office was crazy – the kind of crazy that was almost enjoyable, because I felt I was written into some satire. An older Russian lady would be loudly swearing at the assignments she was given and how stupid the architect was. A Trinidadian sitting near me would be muttering about how he can’t work with her constant complaining. The head engineering would yell out a name, and a moment later someone would nervously scamper into his office. I had a front row seat to the action, and I dreaded my name ever being called. The atmosphere ranged from rushed to frantic, and I don’t work well with either. I’m the type to look at an assignment for a while, and then decide a new and faster way to complete it. They wanted instant results. I didn’t last long. My supervisor acted like it was her idea, but it was mutual. A few days prior I had said we might not be a good fit. Perhaps it was because of my comment, or maybe I sensed it was coming. Either way, I’m sure my boldness was built on having already begun the interview process with another company.

I had applied to a couple positions; both dream jobs. Two applications doesn’t have great odds, so I was surprised to see their email. The email lead to a phone call with Human Resources, which led to a phone interview with the team. Even at that stage I could see how much different this job would be then the little office with the swearing Russian. My ideas that were previously deemed “a little out there” were now received with interest and agreement. They said they’d like to have me come in, and so we planned a day the next week – I wanted to have enough time to request it off. But two days later I lost my job, so that wasn’t necessary.

The women at reception had me sit down as I waited for the interview to begin. I picked up a book that sat on the table in front of me. I casually opened it and began to read through an introduction on the founder and his philosophies. To instantly feel like you belong somewhere is rare, but as I read those words I felt equal parts inspired and understood.

There was such an ease about the whole process, which is odd considering my livelihood was dependent on these conversations. My time in Egypt and Dubai impressed them. And at my hope to go back there someday, they promoted the company’s value of having their employees travel to their other offices. I was honest, and it seemed like everything I said was what they wanted to hear. They said it felt like a good fit. I felt the same.

It was a couple years back that I found out about this company. Where I would wait for my bus to take me to work, another lady waited for her kid’s school bus. We talked often and when that job ended, she gave me her card and told me to apply. I ran into her on the street about a year later. I told her I was moving to Dubai and she reminded me they had an office there. She tried to connect me but nothing panned out. I reached out when I came back to the US, but again, nothing panned out, so I ended up in a small engineering firm with a swearing Russian lady. But my research in that company put them at the top of my list. They’re one of  the most innovative in their field; the only reason I was even qualified for the position was because I had decided to learn a computer program in preparation for a job opportunity I didn’t get in Dubai.

The pieces of this story are scattered and seemingly unconnected. The uncertainty pried my fingers off the controls, and I fought to hold on. I like to choose the direction I go. It makes me feel secure. It lets me pretend I know the way to where I’m going. Yet dead ends forced me into the only option left. And I watched on, skeptical and fidgeting, as I was brought down winding roads and uneven terrain to end up where I was trying to get to the whole time. The story isn’t finished yet. I’ve reached no pinnacle. But my pulse has regained its composure knowing that these unfamiliar paths were well designed.  

One more story. This was a few weeks ago. As I was eating in the break room, I heard my name called. I turned to see a friend I hadn’t seen since college. He was the top of the class, and we would often compete on our tests. I would get a 96, he’d get a 99. I’d get a hundred, he’d get the extra credit. This was the kid who worked part time senior year, and had grad school lined up while we were all looking to be free from education forever. And you know my story: I did missions. I pursued God’s heart and put my career on hold. I gave up climbing the social ladder to go deeper with him. But somehow, here I was: working for the same company as my rival. And better yet, I beat him by 3 months.

God values our dreams. He understands the deep groanings of our hearts and knows their difference from our fleeting cravings. He desires to satisfy us. And when you come to believe that, you can let go of your fear of neglect. You can trust that you won’t be abandoned. Your eyes begin to lift from your own needs to see what’s on his heart, and you break free from what drives this city.

New York is said to be where dreams are made, and in many ways it’s true. But oh, that our pursuit would be to know his! That we wouldn’t get distracted by the lure of success, but we would find something infinitely more purposeful to live for. When you look into his eyes you see it. You can hear it in the excitement of his voice. And when you take the time to ask, he’ll tell you.