time to begin again
Until a few years ago, I didn’t worry much about whether I could accomplish what I wanted. I felt smart, capable, and special, as most people do who have been raised by loving parents and who have always found sympathetic teachers to convince them that their futures will have the trajectory of a rocket ship. The question I was always trying to answer was what I wanted to do, not if I could do it. I wouldn’t have said it to you exactly this way then, but I thought that knowing what I wanted was the hardest part, and that the path from then on out would be dreamily simple. I’d pick a career, be wildly successful, and die happy with my dog at my side.
After I quit my teaching job, it took a lot to recover from the guilt and sense of failure I felt. It was as if the house I’d been living in all my life had fallen down about my ears. Nothing seemed certain anymore, least of all my own abilities. I did recover, though. I worked hard to learn from the mistakes I’d made, and after a while I even stopped punishing myself for how those mistakes had hurt others. One thing I didn’t envision was that part of what becoming whole again required was relinquishing the sense of ambition I’d possessed, unnoticed and unexamined, for all of my twenty-five years.
I think I stopped believing at some point in 2005 that I would ever do anything truly important with my life. Indeed, I started believing—though again I wouldn’t have said it to you exactly this way then—that giving up the hope of being special was the best way to protect myself. I focused on small happinesses. I drew a line in the sand between me and my friends, who were busy becoming doctors and lawyers, politicians and filmmakers, scientists and storytellers. I rebuilt a little habitat out of the everyday, and I resolved to be satisfied with what I had. Once I sat down with the notion that I was not, in fact, special, it wasn’t hard to decide that being ordinary was just fine with me, because wanting to be anything more was not only prideful but also hurt like the dickens.
I don’t think this process was bad for me, necessarily, but I do think that it might be time to begin again. This new house I’m living in has strong walls, and safe ones, but I’m getting tired of how small it is. I’m weary of feeling my heart constrict whenever people ask me what I do. I’m coming close to being willing to allow myself a little room to want. And what I want is not going to come without risk, determination, and at least a drop—but perhaps, after all, just a drop— of ambition, pride, and something special.
January 22nd, 2008 at 12:37 am
1. you have a dog? what what?
2. cori and i are in more or less the same predicament recently: the ambition to be Something overwhelms the knowledge about What to be. I’ll be interested to hear how your journey goes. we, i think, have a lower tolerance for risk than you and ross do; i’d give you better odds of success.
3. great shot of ross’ new watch!
January 22nd, 2008 at 11:13 am
1. I don’t have a dog. I’ve always wanted a dog. A dog was part of the life plan.
2. Actually, I think you’re in the opposite predicament, but maybe we can meet in the middle. :-) Part of what I’m noodling over at the moment is the fact that my tolerance for risk has lowered; I don’t think I’ve done anything really risky since I started working in educational publishing. But I’m trying to be a bit braver and if I find the secret I’ll send it to you.
3. He loves it! I’m sad that I didn’t take any pictures of you and Cori, but I just don’t even try in low light anymore — I won’t succeed until I give up and decide to get (and use) an external flash. But your photographer looked like he was everywhere, so I can’t wait to see his work!
January 22nd, 2008 at 11:53 am
1. Fortunately, life isn’t over yet, so you haven’t failed at Life Plan Execution just yet. ;-)
2. Let me know when you find the secret, or even any inklings along the way. I’ll be sure and do the same!
3. We made sure to see some of his low-light photography before we hired him, and it was pretty impressive, so hopefully we’ll get something good.
January 22nd, 2008 at 9:02 pm
Your emotional honesty shows how gutsy you are, so you are not so risk-averse as you think. I’m sure whatever you do will end up really special and I’ll be thrilled to see it.
January 24th, 2008 at 6:14 pm
Interesting post, M. You have always struck me as very ambitious and multi-talented.
Not ambitious in a cold, Lady-Macbethian way at all–but in the thoughtful manner of someone who cannot bear to do less than an extraordinary job at anything. (Even something mundane, like educational publishing.)
You have never been afraid of risk in the time I’ve known you–admittedly that’s not too long, since we met in 2005 I think. I’m sure you will continue to be brave and try things that scare you a bit and bring you all the more satisfaction. I’ll always consider myself lucky to be among your fans and admirers as you do that!
: )
January 24th, 2008 at 9:45 pm
I sometimes forget that you’ve only known me post-teaching crash and burn, A. I’ve definitely changed since then, become a lot more circumspect and practical — but perhaps the explanation for our differing viewpoints is that before you knew me I was a raging megalomaniac. ;-)
Am thinking of you. Sorry I’m so terrible about phone calls — will try to pick up the email ball again soon! Are you going to read at this New Bedford festival that’s on your blog?