I’ve been lying to myself for a while. Maybe “lying” is a little harsh here. Maybe that’s not exactly how I should phrase it, but all I know is that I haven’t been 100% truthful.
And I haven’t just been lying to myself. I’ve been lying to a lot of other people, too.
~
When I quit my job over a year ago, everyone under the sun asked me what I wanted to do next. “What’s the game plan?”
I used to answer with, “I’m looking for jobs. I’m searching. I’m trying,” and I was— there was no doubt about that.
Except, it felt like someone was asking me to research the most boring topic in the entire world and give an hour long, solo presentation on it. I didn’t even really wanna read the prompt let alone look up sources, cross reference peer-reviewed studies, and collect mass amounts of information. The amount of work and time that goes into that process is beyond extensive, but when you’re very uninterested in the topic, it makes everything 10x worse.
In other words, I loathed looking for jobs. Loathed.
But I still looked. I still read the prompt, looked up sources, cross referenced peer-reviewed studies, and collected mass amounts of information. I still dedicated extensive amounts of time and energy to landing my next job, while everything in me revolted against my actions. I was a walking, breathing oxymoron for a full year. Feeling one thing, doing another. Internally leaning away from the status quo and then externally begging for what I was so against.
Why?
Because I didn’t know any better. My path and direction were so unclear for all of 2021. It felt like I was constantly walking through a dust storm, and there was no end in sight. I had no idea when the dust would settle and I would be able to open my eyes. All I knew was that I trusted it would end because I had no other choice. One time I heard, “if you’re in the middle of hell, don’t stop there,” and that’s how it felt. I could only see my own two feet, so I kept moving. One foot in front of the other. Silently whispering to myself that the wind burn and tiny little stings from the particles of dust hitting my bare skin were all temporary.
“You’re doing great. Keep going,” are quite literally the exact words I have quietly repeated to myself for over a year now. Where was I going? I had no idea. I just needed to hear myself say that I was doing my best because Lord knows I was.
But the dust has settled, my skin no longer stings, and I can fully open my eyes.
In the last few weeks of my life, I have come to terms with the fact that I don’t want just another job. I don’t want to work for someone else. I don’t want a 9-5. I don’t want any traditional career. Every time I tried to sit down and job search in the past, my entire body resented me. I felt like I was clawing my nails against a chalk board. It was grueling and painful and just against my grain in every sense of the word. But I did it anyway.
For a year and a half I have been writing on this silly little blog. I have stayed up until 3am frantically detailing a thought that has demanded my attention, and I have woken up at 4am out of the blue and written blog posts while most people are blissfully sleeping. There are some people who’ve asked me, “are you still writing?” and to me, that question feels like they’re asking, “are you still breathing?” There is no difference. I know that’s so unbelievably dramatic, but God damnit that’s how I feel.
What I’m trying to say is that my love for this blog is immense beyond measure. Not a single thing about it goes against my grain. I would spend all day (and night) for the rest of my life looking up sources, cross referencing peer-reviewed studies, and collecting mass amounts of information if it meant that the prompt was one in which I wrote. I love this blog that much.
When people would ask me, “What do you want to do for a living?” it never clicked that blogging was it. This felt like a hobby— some “silly little” blog, even though, deeeep deep down, I could hear the gurgling of the word “blogging”. It was there, somewhere, yet I never thought to listen to it. My mind would step in and say, “Pick something a little more ‘acceptable’.”
But if you truly know me (or just keep up with my content), you know “silly” and “little” are bogus words in my book, and that “gurgling” was trying its hardest to be heard.
My dream life is to travel and blog (don’t let that get confused with travel blogger). I feel the most at home when I am traveling and the most at ease when I am writing. Together that combination is like ecstasy to me.
For the longest time, I had only seen those two as hobbies, but recently, I’ve realized that they’re much more than that to me.
So, I’m not gonna play that back and forth game anymore with myself. I’m calling a spade a spade and loudly proclaiming that I want to be a full-time blogger (would you believe that I wrote “full-time blogger” then deleted it because it felt too direct? I then had to tell myself to call a spade a fucking spade, write that title down, and own it).
It is so clear that my path is unpredictable and scary, and there are a lot of unknowns on the road ahead of me. I will endure more dust storms as I drive down the highway of my life, but this time, I have goggles and a long sleeve. I might not ever know when the “end” is near, but I know that my two feet will carry me until I get there. That, I am sure of.
And last, but definitely not least, I have been graciously given the opportunity to live abroad in Italy so that I can be immersed in inspiration to fuel my love for this art. I don’t think I have fully grasped the reality of that offer yet, but I know soon it will hit.
With that said, I booked a one-way ticket to Lake Como, Italy. I arrive April 1st. I have no idea when (or if) I will return. But much like my dust storms, the end does not matter. It’s how you navigate the middle that determines your destination.
Please let this post validate your burning desire to choose what makes you happiest. Life is one big game, and no one knows how to play it better than you.
To pasta, wine, gelato, and of course, the dust.
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