Becoming Jacob

When I was fifteen I read A Separate Peace. I identified with Gene, the mediocre kid caught in the shadow of his best friend Finny, for whom everything seemed to work out without much effort. I was the kid with all the problems. No matter what I did, I was destined to fail. God had cursed me.

Friday night (and going into Saturday morning) I listened to Jacob Have I Loved while driving across northern Nevada and the salt flats of Utah. It's about Louise, the older of two twins who lives forever in the shadow of her sister. Everybody loves Caroline while everyone forgets Louise. Surprisingly, I didn't relate to Louise.

At one point in the book Louise realizes that she is Esau to Caroline's Jacob. "Jacob have I loved and Esau have I hated," says God, and Louise comes to the conclusion that it doesn't matter what she does because it's God who has determined her fate. Shortly thereafter, in a heated exchange, Louise tells her mother to leave her alone while secretly telling herself that if her mother does leave her alone, it will be proof of the fact that she is unloved by God, her mother, and all of humanity. The mother, thinking she's doing what Louise wants, leaves her.

It's easy to come to a conclusion and then find (or create) evidence to support that conclusion. I do it all the time. At some point in the last ten years, though, I decided that that conclusion would not be that God hates me, but that he loves me.

There's a lot of evidence to support this theory: I have a great job and am about to start another great job; I've been able to complete a master's degree; I live in a nice place; I love my family; I have a wonderful daughter and a great wife. It's tempting, often, to point out all the things that prove I am Jacob in appearance but Esau in reality: my bosses refuse to promote me despite the fact that I'm overqualified for higher positions; my master's degree is in English, which is all but useless in the real world; the nice place I live in is in Utah; and so on.

But I choose not to. At least today. Today, I'm Jacob. And it's okay.