I suddenly remembered I'm 27 and its ok not to have my entire life figured out....... and other adventures

Millennials have been catching a lot of flack for the fact that their sense of entitlement has caused them to "expect" they will do something totally awesome and amaze their chosen field, which they will of course already have figured out, while in thier 20's. What experts and the peanut gallery often fail to acknowledge is that this creates an unparalleled amount of pressure for the individual. Suddenly every choice I make must COUNT, every relationship and career move must be exceptional and one step in the wrong direction could mean I've already hit the point of no return. 

Its EXHAUSTING. 

As I witness the end of my graduate career, for real this time, I am suddenly overwhelmed by the pressure to  reach my full potential.Tomorrow. 

Sure, I've been putting in a lot of extra time building up my CV (resume to those of you not in the know) and its pretty impressive for someone who has yet to leave school. 

But now, the security blanket of Grad school is about to be yanked away. I'll be standing on my own and wherever I'm standing it better be AWESOME. 

This reminds me of a story.....

Earlier this week I was on my way to an interview to a job I really didn't want. On some anxiety fueled, midnight job hunt, I applied for a job directing a University Counseling Center. My ideal position, I thought. I thought little about it until they called to interview me two months later.

The first interview could not have been more awkward, I had just returned from dental work and I didn't realize it was an interview until the end when I was asked when I would like to set up the second one. 

So the second phone interview consisted of me asking a list of questions and, apparently they liked what I had to say so they invited me in for a final interview. 

There was just one problem, I knew I didn't want the job.

While seemingly a perfect fit, it was the little things about it that threw up the red flags. When I thought about all the things I'd have to give up to take it, something in me cringed. 

But then, the exceptionalist pressure set it. What this was as good as it was going to get? What if turning this job down meant that I was meant to settle into mediocrity for the rest of my life? Couldn't I just try it on for a bit, I could put my goals on hold for a little while right? I should be happy to have an offer like this when seemingly the rest of the 27 yrs olds out there are struggling to get out of mom and dads house. This was an impressive position for someone my age, I could be EXCEPTIONAL.

So as I drove to the interview, I prayed that God would give me a sign, a BIG one either way so that I wouldn't make a choice that would set me on a life-long wrong trajectory. Right after I prayed that I passed a motel with a lit-up sign that said "Yes." I decided to shelf that for later. 

I felt horribly awkward in my interview clothes, I always do. My professional attire consists of blazers or cardigans and nice denim. I work in colleges, it fits.I made a mental note to go out the first chance I get and find some interview clothes that dont make me look 50.

I found a parking lot and got out to look at the map, it was caked in mud. I took that as NO. So far the yes/no ratio was at an even 1-1. The campus was beautiful though, like a movie, one more for the yes. As I was walking around struggling to breathe thanks to a lingering cold, I realized I was in the  wrong place. Irritation=No in my book so we were back at an even 2-2. I made it to the interview 5 minutes late and for 30 minutes answered questions like I was taking my state board all over again. No big sign that this wasn't the place for me, just a quiet feeling like something was amiss. On my way out, I found I had been given a "ticket" (nice try campus security, let me know when you become a real officer) for parking in a VISITOR parking spot without a permit. Lame.

And that was the third strike.

It wasn't really all those things and I never got that giant sign from God, like a call from my dream job waiting for me when I got back in the car. What I did get was a still small voice letting me know this wasn't it and an overwhelming feeling of trust that what was it, is out there. 

I was reminded as I sat in the totally uncomfortable outfit on an awkward sofa that at 27, it really is ok that I don't have everything figured out and I don't have to take the first salaried position I'm offered just so I can look like I have it all together. I'll just keep working my three part time jobs and I'll be on the look out for the right thing, actively, until it comes along. Who I am now isn't who Ill be in twenty years or even ten and there's no guarantee that putting myself on the right "trajectory" will put me where my 50 year old me wants to be. 

I gave myself permission to say no and to put off showing the world how awesome I am for a little longer and it really is OK. I don't have to buy into the "exceptionlism" and expect it all to fall into my lap. I am perfectly content to continue paying my dues until I work my way until I'm where I want to be. 

At 27, I've barely begun to know who I am as an adult, let alone as a life-long professional. So I'm going to strike out on my five year goals only, not be afraid of hard work and expect nothing greater than mediocrity, for now. 

Making the Home Lights Bright

Undoubtedly, one of the unfortunate dilemmas of youth is the overwhelming desire and energy to "Go" and the inadequate supply of funds to do it. I can't complain, I get to travel quite often yet it seems I never get to go where I really want to go.

I'm not quite sure where that is but if I close my eyes it looks like the Shire, Prince Edward Island and Paris rolled into one.

Sometimes, I can sit for hours listening to "Bright Lights and City Scapes" imagining where I'll go but for now, this week, I'm still here.

So I worked on making the home lights brighter, content to be here even if I am alone.

So I decided to try out my handy-women skills. Thankfully, my ends justified my means because the road to success was both broken and bloody. I choose not to let the multiple bruises, blood or broken ceiling fans deter me and, in the end, I was successful.

I cooked almost everyday.

I read a book for pleasure and tossed deadlines to the wind.

I talked to my dog.

I laughed with friends and had meaningful conversations by moonlight on the porch swing.

I got ice cream on rainy days and brought some home to my dog.

I stayed up till 2am with my part-time roomie eating pizza on top of a file cabinet promising to only watch "one more episode" of our favorite show.

I played piano at any time the whim struck.

I looked through pictures and cards I collected and treasured the memories, happy or sad.

A funny thing happened then, the feeling to "Go" and see it all wasn't quite so unbearable. The lights were bright when I came back each night and there was a that true feeling of "Home" that seems to be missing when I'm here alone.

The outside world seemed especially harsh last week, the days seemed to cycle between extreme pity parties and the intensely awkward.

Most times, I don't seek out the adventures, they seem to find me but this week, I created my own, right here at home in the most pleasant of ways. Whether I woke up the next day with unidentifiable bruises or found myself alarmingly covered in puzzle pieces (unnoticed until I entered the bathroom) or discovered, yet again, that I had put my clothes on inside out, the adventure at home, the small alone kind, were the ones  I looked forward to most.

“The power of finding beauty in the humblest things makes home happy and life lovely.” 
― Louisa May Alcott

Its not You...... Its Me....No Really

Sitting in a very hot plane, waiting to take off.

Minutes pass......

Finally the LAST passenger makes it onto the plane.

More minutes pass.....

The flight attendant makes an announcement, "The plane is overweight, would anyone like to volunteer to stay behind in exchange for a free voucher?"

Everyone looked around at each other but not one volunteered. This was an international flight that only flew once a week, on Sunday.

Finally, the flight attendant called a name. The women, who just happned to be the LAST passenger to board stood up.

"The plane is overweight and someone is going to have to go and well........ ITS YOU."


and that's how that ended.


It wasn't that this woman was morbidly obese, in fact she was rather small. There wasn't anything fundamentally wrong with HER, it was the plane that had the issue. The plane could not sustain her weight, not because she was inherently heavy, it was because the plane was overloaded.

When I used to feel the need to cut someone out of my life, I more than often attributed it to something THEY had done or how THEY were but, in this solitary adventure of  maturing (an often exhausting one I might add), what I'm finding is its ME that has the issue.

With the exception of the occasional borderline or co-dependant in my life, what I've found is that the reason I feel the need to cut them out is not  inherent in THEM its that I can't handle it.

William Glasser explains this in his book "Choice Theory." The reason we get so frustrated and unhappy sometimes is because we're trying to control what someone else is doing. We want them to meet our expectations and they won't/don't/can't.

So what I've come to see is, even though its cliche, its not them with the issue, its really is ME! They might be able to live with themselves the way they are but I can't! I can't handle the fact that they are willing to be sub-par or refuse to better themselves or communicate more clearly or more often. I find the way they talk invalidating or their lack of self-awareness infuriating. Their unwillingness to give me what I think I need in our friendship or their inability to discern it is devastating. Yep, those are all my issues.



Maya Angelou said "The first time someone shows you who they are, believe them." I have NO right to expect anymore from them. Of course, if you are in any kind of relationship with anyone you should communicate your needs to them but, after you've clearly communicated and made sure they heard you, if they don't make steps to give you what you need, then its only fair to assume that they are going to continue on EXACTLY how they are. At that point, the inevitable hurt or disappointment that comes when they fail to meet my expectations is really my own fault because they have PROVEN to me that they aren't going to meet my expectations. I am holding them up to a standard I have no right to hold them to.

So when I get ready to toss someone off the plane, its because I'm overloaded, not because they are necessarily too heavy. I'm not ok with how they are but THEY are. My choices are, change my attitude and accept them as they are or toss them off the plane.

Tossing them off is ok. If a plane takes off overloaded, its likely to crash. Its ok for me to say "I CAN"T HANDLE THIS!" and ask them to step off the plane but, in doing so, I have to be willing to acknowledge the problem often lies in my inability to stop wanting to control them. So now I know, a lot of times when I have to ask someone to leave my emotional plane, its because I can't not want to control them. I can't stop myself from expecting them to be different or better.

So yes, its not you, its me. Really.

P.S. I did put in the caveat about Borderlines and Co-dependants. There are more of those than you think. In that case, its not me, It IS THEM and they know it.

Faking It

So our class was supposed to meet in the Library that particular evening and I forgot my student ID.

Without it there is no entrance into the Library, well not unless you leave your drivers licence. The security is  tight at the library to say the least because of course we wouldn't want the uneducated masses trying to break in and learn something.

So the location of my ID is currently undetermined and was the same that very night. The disorganization of anything in my possession once again came back to haunt me.

So I left my licence with the security guards, hesitantly, and was left with a parting warning that I MUST be out of the library by 6:30pm.

Once upstairs, in the classroom, I informed my fellow classmates and professor of my plight. What to do, What to do. One classmate generously offered the loan of her ID, I could  just pass as her.

So I went back downstairs and collected my licence. I exited the North entrance of the library, like a fugitive and returned at the South entrance where I swiped my friend's Id. The whole time I'm envisioning being questioned by the security guards, getting in some freak accident where I am identified wrongly by the ID I'm carrying, or being a part of some criminal investigation in which I am questioned as to my whereabouts on such and such day and the proof is not in my favor because I LIED. I made my way back to class, head down, collar up, hands in pockets, channeling the spirit of Carmen San Diego.

Rules. Obviously I rarely break them. Five minutes in and out and I was a nervous wreck.

I had every right to be there, I am a paying student with no outstanding library fees and yet, I felt like an impostor. I felt like I was waiting for the moment when someone would discover I wasn't who I claimed to be and didn't belong. I waited for the library G-men to bust in and take me out.

So this is getting to be a pattern.

When you start getting older you find yourself in all kinds of new roles and though you are somewhat ready for them, they are kind of like new shoes with a little room to grow. Each time you show up, you worry that someone is going to realize you don't really belong there. Somone's going to figure out you're too young, too silly, too under qualified, too different, too random, too trendily dressed (hey this is a list of irrational fears, better name them all), too distracted.

Taking on these roles often feels like pretending to be someone else. I check myself at the door and sneak in under the guise of a different identity.

So when people yell at you to wait in the hall or refuse to tell you where the faculty mailboxes are because they assume you're a student, you find your fears confirmed.

But this is part of the transition. Its taking off your training wheels so you can learn to ride without them, not because you already can. IT IS taking on a new identity because you're expanding who are but remembering your job is not your identity, at least not all of it.

Sometimes we have to fake it not for other people, because, on paper, we do belong, we're qualified and we've proven that. Sometimes we fake it for ourselves, we don't yet feel validated or at home in these new parts of identity so we "pretend" until we do. We fake it until we understand these are new parts of who we are, and we begin to feel comfortable in a new skin.

I don't know that there's a nice wrap up answer to this one,I think its part of the process of getting older, and change.

So as long as my students talk to me in the elevator like I'm one of them on the first day of class and as long as I'm leading people who have years of life on me, I'll be adjusting.

At the end of the day, I'll probably trip over something and end up with a bruise anyway. Its what brings me back to reality and reminds me I'm still Melanie, carrying someone else's ID or not.

Finding Closure

I should have known it was coming. From the very moment I saw him in the pet store.

But I had to have him.

He was simply irresistible with his large, deep eyes and his chubby cheeks. His head was too large for his tiny fish body and his malformed fins that could barely keep him underwater. He wore a permanent frown. That's how I knew he was the fish for me. I had to rescue him from his run-of-the-mill pet store life and show him all the world had to offer to a goldfish (a private bowl and regular feedings).

Even though he seemed happy, every morning  I would rush to check his bowl, bracing myself for the inevitable. There he would be, happily swimming around or hiding under his friend, the filter hose.

I worried when I caught him eating the filter. I worried when he blankly stared at the side of the bowl. When I caught him sucking on the rocks on the bottom of the bowl, I knew, deep down, it was the beginning of the end.

When I heard the gurgling noises emitting from the bowl, I figured he was just hanging out at the top of the water again.

When I woke up from my nap, he was gone and I cried. He may have only been a goldfish but, as Dr.Suess would say, "A person's a person no matter how small."

Even though I knew it was coming, I wasn't fully prepared and, when the inevitable struck, I found myself lacking appropriate closure. Perhaps it was for the best he went quickly instead of slowly fading.

Life often happens this very way. People, or seasons, come in our lives and we do everything we can to hang on to them because we know, inevitability, they will leave or the season will end. The tell tale signs are everywhere but rather than prepare ourselves for the impending end, we live in denial and convince ourselves that they or it (or a goldfish) are forever.

When the fallout inevitably comes, we aren't ready. We wish for more time to do better, do different, say what wasn't said or somehow unsay what was. As humans, we fail horribly at closure because we fear the end.

Finding closure internally can't come from someone else. I've asked countless clients what they are looking for when they say they want "closure." Sometimes its an apology, an explanation or an aknowledgement. In all those individuals, I've never found one who got what they wanted and were satisfied.

 Closure is often a lonely process where WE forgive, WE accept without explanations and WE acknowledge we don't need someone else to validate our existence.

When losing a goldfish, though ones heart breaks, closure is quickly reached. Other times its not so simple as saying a farewell over the symphony of a flushing toilet.

Gerber's death is not in vain. It is a reminder to accept seasons as they come.

So, if you see your friend sucking on  a rock or seeking daily shelter under a giant, plastic tube, say what you need to say before its too late.

Seeking closure, the ongoing plight of the human existence.

Performance Anxiety

" I will make a battering-ram of my head and make my way through this rough and tumble world"- Louisa May Alcott

Indeed.

In general this is infact how I make my way through the world. The myriad of oft lamented awkward moments and poorly navigated interpersonal interactions are a direct result of my Quarter-back like approach to life.

But, on the rarest of occasions, the clumsy moments that befall me are in no way my fault. In fact, these rare occasions, over the course of the year, are becoming a lot less rare. 

All because I decided to join a band, 

I'm not picky about bands because I'm just trying to put myself out there. Rather than take the battering ram approach to music, I actually do practice. A lot. I have found this year that my practicing is in vain however, because inevitably some random occurance befalls me, and only me, making every performance a small adventure and rather than alleviate my stage fright, it has gifted me with a severe case of performance anxiety. 

I would like to relate these small adventures to you now.

MY FIRST PERFORMANCE

It was the first time I had ever played publicly on the guitar in an actual band. A friend of mine had been kind enough to allow me to play with her at a small start-up church. I spent hours building my callouses and practicing the simple songs over and over again. When we got up to play, though nervous, the hours I had spent practicing gave me small sense of confidence. 

Then the inevitable. The air unit came on and blew a cloud of dust into my eyes. At first I simply saw a dirty  film on my glasses so I cleaned while the pastor shared a few words. Then my eyes began to well up with enormous tears. I found that in order to see my music, I had to open one eye long enough to see the next chord then open the other for the one following that. At one point I stopped playing completely and wiped my eyes on my shirt. The people in the audience saw it as a sign that I was touched by the song. 

And so that's how it ended. My first performance summed up in a streak of mascara on the arm of my shirt. 

.........

From that time, I joined another band and tried another instrument and try what I might, practice as I may, the expected yet unexpected inevitable occurs. 

My ongoing shtick is to show up with the wrong chords and to sit at my keyboard looking both dejected and clueless at the same time. 

Another time my inner ear sounded like an alien was trying to channel me and so I had to take it out. (FYI an inner ear allows you to hear specific parts of the band while playing and a "click" that keeps you in tempo). Infact, my inner ear never works, inevitably I can't hear myself I am playing or anything at all. At those times I do indeed revert back to my battering ram approach.

With so many minor fails occurring most people would get discouraged, but not I. When it comes to music I am the little engine that could. 

This is THE time.....

I just knew this was going to be it. I had all the right chords, we were playing an acoustic set and I had adequate time to practice. I came in knowing that THIS was the time I would not make a fool of myself. Little did I know....

In the midst of practice the keyboard decided to revert to another setting. Suddenly my adequate practicing was for naught. Everything I played sounded completely off and for once, it was not the result of my inadequate musical knowledge.  Indeed, I should have determined then that when your own instrument turns against you, you should bow out gracefully and burn your music on the way out. 

Not I.

NO, THIS is  THE time, take 2!

So this was really it. Despite carrying out the monthly tradition of having no idea what I was doing at practice, I showed up tonight hopeful. I had all the right chords (I tripled checked)., I had adequately practiced and they were all easy songs. I should have taken the fact that someone had used the soft ear pieces to my inner ears and not returned them as a bad sign. 

A minor set back but I was not to be deterred.

I should have taken the fact that one of my two inner ears was broken as another bad sign.

But no, I accepted the fact that I would only be hearing out of one ear the rest of the evening. 

During the last minute practice my finger starting jamming into a straight position making playing very awkward. 

Heard of stretches? Did them.

Yes. this WAS the time!

Just when things were about to start, the shoe dropped, the hammer fell, the cookie did indeed crumble. The bass player casually mentioned he took my seat. My seat! Perfectly positioned to reach the foot peddle, not strain my wrists and keep my music on eye level. In exchange, he left me a stationary, low sitting stool.

I will not deny I was fighting bitter thoughts left and right. I manage to make it through the first song, a rap one mind you, with little difficulty though the finger thing returned and my leg  was aching from the awkward positioning of the chair. 

Then the other shoe dropped. Suddenly, I could no longer hear the notes I was playing, so I played harder. 

They came back. Then they were gone again.

Suddenly it dawned on me, the keyboard itself was malfunctioning  Every other chord I played was being muted by some invisible force. 

Thats when I lost heart. They finally broke me. That's two keyboards and an AC unit that have turned on me. 

Maybe next time my chair breaks, or I get electrocuted by the inner ear or  stage light falls on me. 

I no longer fear the people, it is the actual performance which haunts me. 

No neatly wrapped message at the end of this one. There are no lessons to be learned here. The adventures I alone get to have on the stage leave me with nothing more than questions and a mounting anxiety around musical equipment. 

Until I blind myself when one of my guitar strings snaps or I get impaled by a music stand (which, incidently almost happened to my best friend).

That is all. 

Where the HECK am I?

"What would it be like to be normal?" I ask myself this as I wonder through hall after hall lugging a ridiculously huge bag. "I wonder what it must be like to KNOW where I am going and WHEN to get there."

Magically, I make my way into the library. I stop to ask the security person at the door if she knows where classroom  2 is.

"Classroom 2?"

"Yes, oh wait, do I get there by going around that bookshelf?"

Blank stares.....

"Oh no, oh ok, well how do I get there?"

"I've never been there myself," she says, "but I think if you go up those stairs and across the floor you'll find it. I've always wanted to find it but never been able to."

(so let me get this straight: A: You've always wanted to find some random classroom because it what, has been immortalized in folklore? B: You're telling me how to get there but you yourself have never actually found it?)

"Ok, thanks........"

So I dig through my large bag and fish out my wallet to scan my ID. I believe at this point I am, in fact, sweating. I make my way over to the area pointed out to me by the security guard. I check the time. 15 minutes early. Excellent, time for a bathroom break. I leave the bathroom and arrive at room 2.

No one is there.

I look around for a minute, hoping to see a familiar face. No. I have done it again. I pull out the syllabus to find it is in fact the 10th of September and not the 17th as previously thought. I was at the right place, on the wrong week. I quickly race over to the correct building just in time to be on time.

Fast forward to the actual 17th of September. Arrive at the library and fumble through my bag for my ID. Same security lady. Easily make my way to room 2. I check the time. 15 minutes early. Excellent, time for a bathroom break. I leave the bathroom and arrive at room 2. What's this? Oh class is already in progress. I walk in and sink self-consciously into the back row. I pull out the syllabus to find in fact class starts at 7:15 and not 7:30 as previously thought.

And this is my life. Perpetually lost, perpetually early or late, perpetually putting my clothes on inside out only to realize it after Ive already left the house and been in public. Forever leaving my house with my gas tank on E only to find Ive left my wallet at home (this happened several times).


My lack of attention to detail has lead me into many buildings and lost me in many cities. And yet, even with my state of perpetual bumbling, I find an ounce of redemption. Had I not gotten the dates mixed up the previous week, I would not have known where to go. Had I been finding my way for the first time to classroom 2, I would have been exceptionally late. Last weeks bumbling made this weeks not quite so....bumbly.

In life in general, I hope I am finding this to be true as well. The clumsy moments of yesterday prepare me for the future. While today is not without its own clumsy moments, somehow yesterdays prepared me for today. I may be forever bumbling, but I am learning. For me, the small adventure may be finding my way out of a downtown library, but it is also navigating the complexities of human interaction.

I thought today about "keeping the plates harmoniously spinning" (See previous blog, "Tell you I'm sorry") and I laughed that someone as awkwardly clumsy as I am would use something so fragile to represent the complexities of friendships. I should have used bouncy balls, or stuffed animals.

Tomorrow, I may not know where the heck I am. In fact, the chances are fairly high that I will get lost somehow and yet, I am thankful for these moments for they often tell me where I want to be.

And so night comes nicely to a close, no longer part-time lodging in a small town, at home now, in the suburbs.