Life As a Raisin

I hate it when I find out I'm not unique or special in some particular way. It's a blind-sided bitch-slap to the ego really. Of course, there have been many times when I've discovered I'm not a rare human specimen (apparently 53 million other people actually watch American Idol), but I was sure the pain and heartache I've been indulging in recently has been mine, mine, all mine.

For the last few weeks (and if I were honest here, I'd say for the last few decades), I've really been struggling with my Point or Purpose. I’ve tortured myself in a desperate attempt to define my talents, cried over being overly soft on the skill set, whined that changing careers is impossible without reeducation and generally, found myself depressed at the prospect of trying, again, to find that thing that might be home to the passion in me. I've named it a lack of career focus or Career Aspiration because, well, that makes sense, right? It seems an easy way to package up years full of lingering doubt and uncertainty of where exactly I can supernova in my universe. It also seems to be how a statistician would package it. I'm American, I’m female. I am part of a single letter generation (X? Y? I’m not sure), I feel entitled to titles without earning them, I spend at least a third of my waking life at work, I define myself by the work I do, I commute an average of 30 minutes a day and I’ll probably wait until all my eggs are dead before I attempt to have kids.

But I digress.

For the last more than a few years I’ve been told to read What Color Is My Parachute as it supposedly addressed many of the questions I’ve persistently pursued. I’ve had it on my book shelf for as long as it’s been referred and every once in a while, in the throes of some work upheaval or a particularly annoying day full of retarded email or Dumb Questions people keep telling me don’t exist, I’d take it off its perch, thumb through it in a half-hearted attempt to make a change and put it back once the wave of job dissatisfaction passes.

Here’s the thing. I have read it this time. Well, OK, not all of it. But I’m reading it. Here’s the more annoying thing. It really does address all those stupid questions I’ve been suffering through all this time. Seriously. And you know what? All I can say is WHAT THE F?! This guy has taken my suffering and pain and made millions of dollars by writing about it. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s taken pages straight from my journal and pasted it into chapters 4 and 5. What a jerk. Worse, I can’t even take this life experience and profit from it because he’s already done it. Now what am I supposed to write about? Thanks a whole hell of a lot Richard Nelson Bolles.

Actually, I don’t hate him. But I do think his sense of enthusiasm about his approach is optimistic. A huge aspect of his method includes networking. Sure, that works great if people actually think you’re worth referring. But what if they don’t? What if people think like I do in my pool of pity and party of self doubt, “Yeah, she’s great but what exactly can she do?” Take THAT Mr. Bolles. Bet you haven’t had to deal with cynicism like that before. Unless you really are reading my journal, in which case, I’m sure this is covered in a chapter I haven’t read yet.

Regardless, I’m still reading. And I’ve got ideas. I’ve got dreams. I’ve got things ‘a brewin’ as They say. These things are encouraging and if not to me, then maybe to the 4 of you that read this and are patiently waiting for me to change topics.

I’m still not quite ready to take the risk to make it happen. I’m wading in the daydream and distressed about my relationship with time and impatience. But I’m struggling with the question, “Can I really be happy being poor?” Sadly, I can’t easily answer that. Do I really have to be poor to be unhappy? Can’t I just immediately become famous or awesome or expert at whatever I try next? Can’t God simply send a memo to the world and let them all know I rule?

My father once told me (as I’m sure father’s everywhere do), “You can do anything you put your mind to.” I always took that to imply that you had to find that one thing to occupy your mind. Maybe that’s not it at all. Maybe he should have said, “You can do everything you put your mind to.” And maybe it’s just time to start.