I’ve fancied myself many things just since graduating college three years ago. I’ve thought myself a nurse, an figure skater, a podcaster, a doctor, an artist, a YouTuber, a doula, a ballerina, a writer -poet, children’s, and classic lit, an illustrator, a tutor, a barista, a librarian, a full time traveler, a teacher for any age, a business owner, a multiple PHD holder, and of course after accomplishing any and all of these things I would be a TED talk extraordinaire.
Each of these, in various phases, I have been as sure as anything would be a viable life path for me. And one that I would accomplish to its utmost degree. I wouldn’t just be a figure skater, I would be a gold medal Olympian. Not just a writer but a poet laureate. I told my friends and family, I spent money on taking lessons or going to school, I moved across the country taking my poor fiancé with me. I have and likely will make large life decisions based on my wildest dreams -because at the time, they didn’t seem so wild.
Which would be fine if I were six and had plenty of time, no concept of limited funds, and two very committed animal handlers (parents). Unfortunately, I’m 25, feel like I’ve run out of time, have very limited funds, and my animal handlers are retired.
Currently, I’m a semi-unemployed receptionist and tutor. You know, living the dream. I find myself in turns under-qualified for every job I want, and over-qualified for every job I need. It doesn’t help that I’ve essentially speed-dated my way through six jobs in three years and for some reason admitting that a job just wasn’t a good fit for you is taboo in interviews. Like, McDonald’s I’m sorry, but nobody is working there for the sheer love of the frying oil.
“But, but Zoelle! You’re so young, and you think you need to have everything figured out but you really don’t! You’ve got so much time! It’s ok gurl, you got this! And you can do anything you want, why not become a figure skater? Everyone starts somewhere, and if it’s something you love you should chase it!”
Ok “gurl”, condescend to me some more. At least I’ve got manic bipolar phases as an excuse for my delusions of grandeur. Not only are the logistics behind chasing a dream very difficult (the dollar bill signs on some of those dreams listed above are extravagant), but the older you get the more you find you should’ve started that dream five, ten, fifteen years ago for it to be viable. And beyond even that, it’s incredibly hard to “chase a dream” when you’re pretty damn sure in 1-3 business months that fire under your ass compelling you to make moth necklaces for Etsy (a guaranteed best seller) will not so much become a haze of smoke but more have a bucket of ice water poured on it when common sense enters the chat.
“But, but Zoelle! If you loved it you’d do it anyway! The need to do a particular something will just keep coming back and when you find the right thing you’ll know it!”
Bite my ass. Every single one of those things I’ve fancied myself I’ve known was the right thing. Some for long enough to make those life altering decisions I was talking about.
“Well, how about some real advice?”
Yes, I beg you.
“You don’t need to like your job, it just needs to be able to sustain you enough that you can follow your passions in your free time. To expect your job to give you everything in life is a dated idea and you just need to pick something and stick with it even when it gets hard or boring because eventually everything gets that way. It sounds like you’re waiting for a Cinderella slipper to fix your problems and you just need to be more realistic about what’s possible in today’s world.”
Oooo a 180 flip from “chase your dreams “ to “give up on your dreams.” I couldn’t have known that was going to happen when you said “let’s get real.” Let’s see, so I’m supposed to aim for a full time job that’s just whatever so that I at least have funds for what I actually want to do in my free time (which I still have yet to determine). An average work day is eight hours, let’s round it to ten for commuting and getting ready time. And I’m only ever willing to be awake for 12-14 hours a day, so that leaves me all of 2-4 hours of free time, which if we’re being honest is going to be eaten alive by my smart-phone and maintaining homeostasis. I think the idea of working to live is outdated and so is the idea of trying to suck the soul out of life in 2 hour increments at the end of the day. A 5:1 ratio of living to work and living to live is just not ok with me, I genuinely would rather die.
So anyway, my point was that I have very little direction and life and very few appealing options until my next manic power boost tells me how I’m going to be a super-star. Even now my dormant ego purrs at the very idea of getting this piece published, perhaps I’ll write a book full of witty essays that simultaneously make one consider life and laugh at its absurdities. They’ll say I have “a beautiful soul gurl” and I’ll make millions and me and my (now) husband will never have to work to live again.
We’ll live in a tiny house by a warm lake with two dogs and a large yard. I’ll garden in the spring, write in the winter, play in the summer, and indulge in the fall. I’ll cover myself with tattoos and leave them black and white so I can color them in on hot summer afternoons. We’ll travel when we want and spend as long as we want wherever we go. My husband won’t work himself to death trying to support impossible dreams and I’ll know the difference between a spark and a fire.
Gratefully,
Zoelle Bellitto
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