There are two milestones looming just over my horizon.
Seven months until my 30th birthday.
Three months until our corporate-funded Eurotour is complete.
These two statements haunt my thoughts during most of my waking hours, and sometimes even my non-wake hours (seriously, Brain, can’t a girl get some beauty sleep?).
When I add these two statements together, here’s what I’m left with: I’m about to turn THIRTY, and I have NO CLUE what my future holds.
(Warning: Extreme self-doubt and navel-gazing ahead. Proceed with caution.)
I can play the part of the carefree traveler, the location-independent part-time freelancer for now. I’m getting to fulfill so many dreams and life list-y goals in one year that I sometimes have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not making this whole experience up.
But the clock ticks on, and before I know it, I’m going to be unpacking my suitcase back home and settling into my old routines. Except there won’t be a real job waiting for me. And my professional goals are fuzzy at best. And a family might not be in my immediate future, as my mental timeline had planned. And did I mention I’m turning 30, which would mean that I’d have to live until 120 years old to appropriately continue using the term “quarterlife crisis” which is really just to say, why aren’t I over this already, dammit?!
ENTER ALL OF THE ANXIETY.
I keep returning to my theme for the year of “Ignite.” If I’m being honest with myself, I admit that by picking this word as my theme, I had delusions of grandeur—that by giving myself this mental time and space (or by “finding myself” through my travels), I’d suddenly discover that one big idea that would create some sort of internal combustion, lighting me up so I’d just know what exactly I want to do with my life. Kablam. Danielle LaPorte-style fire starting! Clarity and passion would magically appear, and we’d dance together into the golden sunset holding hands!
In this deluded state, I’ve been rather greedy. Every self-help book—and there have been dozens—is a promise that it might contain the secret answer to solve all my problems. I hoard ebooks and ecourses in a folder on my desktop named “Self Improvement,” most of them abandoned when I didn’t easily find the answers I’m seeking. I’ve fallen into internet black holes more than once, attaching myself to a few specific people I admire and trying to read between the webpages to figure out exactly how they got where they are, how they found their answers, and how I can try to fit my feet into their shoes.
I want so badly to clearly see the big picture in full detail before I make a move. I want to know that if I make a decision to pursue a new career path, that I will be fulfilled, that I won’t make yet another career mistake, that other people won’t judge me with those eyes that say, WTF is she doing now? My fear motives are out in full force, hackles raised. And because it’s impossible to know the future with any certainty, I’ve stagnated.
I realize I’m going about this all wrong. My desire for a tell-all crystal ball just isn’t how the world works. Seeking answers from books and idols isn’t listening to my truth. I can’t plan my way into a new career without moving from square one.
So, right now, I’m turning inward. Instead of wishing for a magic blaze, I’m just looking for a teeny spark among the ashes, little nuggets of truth and wisdom that can be nurtured and fanned into a stronger glow.
Example 1: Shortly after quitting my last job and declaring myself D-O-N-E with marketing, I deleted my LinkedIn account. This was the equivalent of a dramatic post-breakup burning ritual—I wanted nothing to do with my former career path and I was tired of getting updates about Mr. Big Shot becoming the VP of Corporate, Inc. or marketing job openings that sounded like my idea of hell.
But. There was one part of my resume that I didn’t want to wave my wand and obliviate from my memory—the three years spanning from my junior year of undergrad through grad school where I taught the lab session of two different creative advertising and design courses. I loved the classroom environment, the interaction with students, the collaboration and learning, the assignments, the grading, the office hours. I won’t kid myself and assume this means I’m destined for the classroom (at least not in the traditional sense), but there’s something in the teaching and learning that I can’t let go of. There’s a spark there.
Example 2: This is a bit more nebulous, but I’ve been paying attention to the places I feel “at home.” The yoga studio, farmer’s market, the kitchen, university campuses, natural food co-ops, libraries and bookstores are all places that have given me the resonant feeling of, “YES, this feels like home; YES, these are my people.”
Example 3: The sense of focus and calm happiness I feel when I’m behind my camera lens, composing my own unique worldview through my images. This feeling also applies when I’m in the zone with a piece of writing (though not this one; this one feels like torture).
These are the kind of little sparks I’m searching for. It takes a concerted effort to stop my impulses to be a puzzle-piece assembler and a meaning maker trying to figure out “where I’m going” or “what it all means” or “how they fit together.” At this point, the best thing I can do is simply stoke these sparks by getting out and exploring these feelings and interests (that, and maybe consider getting a therapist or coach to help me through some of this junk when I get home). I’m taking to heart the wisdom that Molly recently tweeted:
“If you’re feeling paralyzed or overwhelmed, stop preparing. Start doing. Begin being.”
{Image via North Charleston}
