So, I'm going to come clean and say that this story really resonated with me, because that's kind of my story. In college I was totally going to be a rabbi and I had a totally intense, personal relationship with God and mysticism. I literally prayed every day, and not because I went to some kind of service every day, because I would make up prayers on the spot for whatever I needed. I had friends who used to greet me with cries of "Reb Mark!" and tell me what an awesome rabbi I was going to be.
Now, in Jewish mysticism we actually have a concept of God as male and female, with a female aspect, so I won't say I'm exactly like the rabbinic student i the story... but except for the accent and the sexuality, he really reminded me of myself, too. I used to love to argue talk about that sort of stuff, at great length, with whoever would listen. I still do, actually.
So there I am in college, with this deep and personal relationship with God and faith and mysticism... and then I hit a really bad patch of sub-clinical depression. At the time, I just thought it was a funk - and maybe there's no difference between a bad funk and sub-clinical depression, but it helps to think of it that way now - but now I see that it really was one of the harder times of my life. And my faith helps me through it. And then my favorite uncle dies, and my faith helps me through it. And my parents get crazier and crazier, and my faith helps me through it. And I graduate and apply to rabbinic school...
And I'm rejected.
It's not a "door closed in your face" rejection, but it is a "you are totally not ready for this commitment - go away and grow up a bit, kid" kind of rejection. It really stings. And suddenly I realize that what I thought was "faith" was also - in addition to really being faith - a crutch that I was using to avoid engaging with fear and pain (as opposed to using it to help me deal with fear and pain - not knocking faith here, just how I was using it), and that my "calling" was actually anxiety about what I wanted to do when I grew up masquerading as certainty.
Fast forward five years later, and I'm teaching science (wtf, I know) in an inner city middle school. I still feel like I'm doing good work - tikkun olam is real and alive for me - but I've lost that close personal connection. I can get the feeling that God and I went from lovers to friends, and sometimes I miss that burning, intense, closeness to the divine. I think that, knowing I have the capacity for it, it will come back if I ever need it or decide to pursue it. I still miss it, though.