I was recently asked a question (by my step-daughter, no less) about my favorite age. What is my favorite age? I paused for a moment, focusing on the moving road stretched beyond my steering wheel. What a profound question! How do I select my favorite age? How do I define this?
It dawned on me a moment later, that the last time I had ever felt carefree was around the age of 18 or 19. I was newly enrolled in college, confident in my self-perception, ideas, goals… I had things to strive for. I had the future ahead of me. I was young and free to explore the world. I was debt free. Uncorrupted. I liked who I was, and I was excited to make something of myself. Oh, the naivety!
So what’s happened since then to make me feel that THAT had to be my favorite age? Why isn’t it now? Shouldn’t I be reveling in my wisdom of the world? How about my many talents as a musician and photographer? What about the great friendships I’ve cultivated over time? I have a wonderful partner. A sweet step-daughter. I’m supported and loved. So, what’s the deal? Where’s my peace and happiness through it all?
Oh, right – Bills, bills, bills. Responsibility. Compromise. Work for peanuts, save your money, eventually you’ll get somewhere. I have worked in finance, sales, retail, restaurants, education, billing, and grant writing. What a wide array of skills and diverse experiences I have cultivated! However, despite all that, it seems that I’ve been working to nowhere my entire life.
This is the culmination of my lifespan – feeling out of place, trying to find somewhere to fit in, and starting over again and again. It’s utterly exhausting. Each career transition contains a period of treading water, and being stagnant is a tough challenge to face. I want to grow, learn, and expand. But I have yet again fallen back to square one.
Moving to Richmond in 2018 was a fresh start. A new opportunity. I was ready start over – try a new career path, make friends, get into the music industry a little more heavily. I did. We did. We were finally making headway – I had a blossoming new career and our duo had regular gigs throughout the Richmond area, plus an open mic every week.
We found an apartment to rent in Shockoe Bottom, down the street from one of our favorite little hangouts – Lickinghole Brewery. We had the freedom to explore and meet new people. I was finally able to get out and make friends. Then COVID-19 hit three months into our lease. I lost my job, everything closed, and I was stuck at home with nothing to do but clean, cook, and worry.
That was March. It’s now November. Over the months, I slowly lost interest in my hobbies as each day bled into the next. My sense of purpose dwindled. Desperate for stabilization and a steady income, I began pushing out my resume, applying to at least two jobs every week since the beginning of June. I’ve had a few hits. Some interviews. No acceptances yet, but I’m hoping this next one will go through. It’s not for lack of trying. Competition’s tough out there. Plus, I’m looking for a job where I’ll actually be a good fit. One where I might succeed, enjoy, belong. I want to be an asset, not dead weight. I want a career. I want longevity. I want purpose.
The hardest pill to swallow is this lingering sense of failure, however unfounded. I thought my life would be more exciting than this. I thought that I would find my career path and travel the world. I am 33, and what do I have to show for it? I have all the dreams in the world, and all I can do is sit and wait. I can’t afford to do the things I love now that I have the time for them. I can’t travel to those far away places. I can’t make that music album. I need to do more and work harder and save, save, save. I want a life better than this.
Don’t get me wrong. My life isn’t “bad”, per say. I’m in a personal rut. I recognize this. You would be too if you were living vicariously through your partner coming home for dinner and your step-daughter needing rides to and from school. I feel like my life isn’t mine anymore. I’m always waiting around for someone else to fill the void.
As for my future… Well, what do I REALLY want to do? Where do I REALLY want to go? These are questions that I do not have answers for… YET. I will not give up on my search. I will not stop trying. It’s time to make a change.
So, my goal this week is to find a way to turn this defeatist mentality around. I want to feel like I’m back in control of my life. I want to feel that lightness of 19 again. I want THIS age to be my prime. I want THIS to become my favorite part of my life. I have already become my own worst enemy – afraid to speak up, build myself up, and take control. I underrate myself and throw myself under the bus. I am the scapegoat for all the problems. I put the weight of the world on my shoulders. I need to stop doing this. I need to stop compromising out of fear. I need to learn to let go of my worries and care less about the consequences.
Let’s just take this one day at a time. I know this shift will not happen right away, but if I can just let go a little more each day, find a little hope to hang onto, and feel good about the little accomplishments, perhaps we’ll start making some headway. Remember that life is always moving, and we’re always growing. It never stops, even when it feels like the world is on pause.
I hope you can make a personal goal to begin anew too.
Elle Christine Travels 
In one of his novels, Kurt Vonnegut started with a few pages’ worth of musings on the book he was GOING to write when he switched to the eventual book’s material…that bit of musing stuck in my mind (and I can’t even remember what the OTHER book’s title or subject became!). In his never-written novel, he had died and was standing at Heaven’s Pearly Gates where it turned out you get to pick your favorite age, but then you’ll remain that age for eternity. Also, it has to be an age you experienced during your earthly life. What should he pick? He decided on 43, which he explained was an age were he’d “learned most of what he would ever learn” and still retained “a bit of sex appeal.” So these were his two criteria: knowledge/wisdom and sex. I read that when I was about the age you are now and have thought about it often, especially when I turned 43! But now that I’m 73 the picture is less clear, mostly because I’ve learned a lot over the past three decades. Sex is important, of course (and remember that I’m a biologist…), but the thing that we humans do best is learn. We can’t fly like a swallow, swim like a porpoise, or dig like a mole, but our brains are unique (so far as we know). It saddens me a bit that your ponderings led quickly to financial constraints (money is essential, but it’s just not very INTERESTING!). The pandemic should, I think, be roped off: nobody plans for that shit! But one needs a modicum of financial security. When I was a teenager, I asked my mother “How much money does one need to be counted as ‘rich’?” It was a vaguely rhetorical question, but she gave me a brilliant answer: “You need enough money so that you don’t spend all your time thinking about money!” I’ve been lucky that way. Academia does not pay well at all, but a tenure-track position becomes “rich” (by mom’s definition) as soon as you are given tenure and can’t be fired. You can pretty much stop thinking about money because you’ll have enough (and there’s virtually no chance that you’ll ever be rolling in dough, so there’s no temptation to sell your soul for cash!). So here’s what I hope for you, dear Elle, that things will clear up as the pandemic fades in our priorities and that you’ll find a job/career that FREES your fine brain from financial worries and you can focus on music, photography, composing haiku, or whatever. There are captivating things to think about if your mind is not cluttered by anxiety! And ten years from now you can decide whether Vonnegut was right about 43…you have plenty of time!
So does April.
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