For as long as I remember, I’ve been fascinated with horror movies. I was a weird child, to be sure, but I always felt a level of comfort watching characters trapped in cycles of debilitating grief and anguish. It made me feel less isolated, strange, to know that there were people crafting a genre focused solely on the terrors of the human psyche. I reveled in this outlet, finally finding a medium to express how scary it was to pretend to be safe everyday.
When I graduated high school and went to college, I felt like I was living in an Ari Aster movie, constantly forced to put on a facade of normalcy while feeling hopeless every day. I prayed to any god to make it stop, to reach a place where I would finally just feel excited to be alive, instead of hoping that I would just make it through to the next part of my life. Incrementally, it got better, and I graduated college with a degree in Economics. (The degree where you give up on your dreams and accept a mediocre salary in return for doing menial work that’s deemed as “highly necessary” by a mid-size, failing commercial real estate company filled with depressed middle-aged to senior white men who pretend they have interesting lives.)
My life never really felt like it existed until I quit. Until I decided to jump into the unknown and completely upend any semblance I had of stability. So far, it’s been a shitshow. I wish I had a profound sentiment to wrap up all of my experiences thus far, but it turns out if you’ve defaulted to survival mode for a great majority of your young life, you’ll be scrounging around in the dark for any sources of light. Weirdly enough, I started to feel like every moment in my life prepared me for this. The resolve to bear difficult realities. Being adaptable enough to weather new information. On the other hand, every challenge I’ve faced has left me with the same conclusion: I have not learned to not suffer. I’ve never known peace, and I’m not sure how to nurture it.
Secondly, it’s not a problem, it’s an epiphany. Normally, I spiral, feeling like I, alone, was the cause of my pain. Honestly, I’m fucking tired of that. Fuck those horror movies and feeling scared. I’m stepping into my romcom era. I want an unreal sense of luck. I want to worry about wardrobe malfunctions, job promotions, and boys that I wanna date. I don’t have to suffer. Life will always be undeniably difficult, but it doesn’t mean I don’t have authority. I am in control of myself and my life. How have I let go? By accepting that I am who I am. There’s no reason to fight myself anymore. There is no enemy or battle to be the best version of myself. It all comes with time and patience.
Sentiments are nice, but what exactly have I done to grant myself more time and grace?
Connect to my inner child. Everyone says this, everyone, everyone. But like the “drink your water” mantra, it’s actually true. Going back to my childhood hobbies reminded me of all the dreams I had when I was little. Now, they feel closer to me than ever. Being an artist. Falling in love. Writing whatever I want. Going to new places and seeing new things. It’s a sweet reminder that nothing can stop you from who you were meant to be besides yourself.
Be open minded. In practice, this is entirely difficult. I like to think of myself as someone who has somewhat of a Bohemian lifestyle. But open-mindedness isn’t wearing thrifted clothes and drinking oat milk. It’s being consistent in the face of societal expectations and staying true to your values, regardless of what opportunity you say yes to. I wasn’t aware of how stringent I was about my career goals, but I realized that I care highly about how I’m perceived. I told my old co-workers that I took a job working at a bagel job in the flux period between finding my “real” job and they looked shocked and disgusted. I didn’t want to admit to them that I needed the money and was starting to feel really lost without anything to wake up for, but I’m sure it showed on my face. Retrospectively, they have nothing to do with me, and sometimes only you will have conviction in an action you’re taking. That’s okay. As long as you know why you are doing something, it doesn’t need to be anyone else’s business.
Move slowly, but surely. Like the tortoise in tortoise and the hare, taking smaller and more consistent steps is a more methodical approach to being successful. I’m pretty gungho about the things that I want (obsessive) but good things take time. And I’m deadset on my dream job, not just a job. Admittedly, month three of unemployment has been deeply exhausting, and I’ve been prone to giving up. But effort pays off. I just remind myself every morning that I chose this. I. Chose. This. I believe in a better life. I believe in my better life.
Enjoy the ride. I had an enlightening conversation with someone who works in my dream industry. He casually mentioned it, maybe just as a white man who has a lot of charisma and just *happened* to fall into a successful career, but he made points. This should be fun. Most people, the ones who haven’t suffered a great deal in their formative years, know this by default, so I’m grateful to them for so readily providing their perspective on how to live an easy life. It’s been hard, admittedly, to enjoy this process, when my body is screaming with stress. Inflamed to all hell and constantly exhausted. I feel like more of an adult though, being above my emotions and understanding that my body is just doing what it does. Being an impulsive person, however, makes this the most difficult step. I’m constantly learning how to care for myself and enjoy my life without being indulgent, careless, or self-destructive.
With all that being said, the road to my success is still unclear as before. Maybe even more so. But I know how to prevail when the odds are against me, and when I want something I get it. Failure is a contingent condition of trying something for the first time, but it’s entirely worthwhile when you are ready to move on. I let go of the version I was when I was experiencing immense trauma, because I can. I am 200% sure of my life’s journey, because now it has really begun.
Instructions for the Journey
Pat Schneider
The self you leave behind
is only a skin you have outgrown.
Don’t grieve for it.
Look to the wet, raw, unfinished
self, the one you are becoming.
The world, too, sheds its skin:
politicians, cataclysms, ordinary days.
It’s easy to lose this tenderly
unfolding moment. Look for it
as if it were the first green blade
after a long winter. Listen for it
as if it were the first clear tone
in a place where dawn is heralded by bells.
And if all that fails,
wash your own dishes.
Rinse them.
Stand in your kitchen at your sink.
Let cold water run between your fingers.
Feel it.