twenty(or)something

Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be so hard.
I’m going back to the start…
Coldplay, “The Scientist”

These past two years have been tumultuous, to say the least, although looking back, I don’t think I regret one bit of it. It’s been a roller coaster ride of slow uphill battles and fast declines, filled with anxiety and thrills as I coasted on an uncertain track. Tomorrow, I return to the beginning of the ride as I begin a new full time job at my old place of employment, in my old department, in my old position.

I’ve come full circle.

In 2007, I left my job at a local bank because I was determined to find a job in my field. I was fresh out of college and eager to use my degree in English, eager to return to my love of writing and find that creative outlet that I thought had been lost amid numbers and data-entry.

I was ecstatic to move into a new position with a company’s corporate communications department, a job that, ultimately, had a greater negative affect on me than I had realized at the time. My decision to leave was one I had questioned for months before handing in my letter of resignation, and though the next two years of temp jobs was both exciting and discouraging, it was the right one for all that I had learned, all I had met, and all I had rediscovered within myself since.

These past two months had been difficult, as even temporary work was hard to come by. And while I’ve been a huge advocate for this type of employment, I had recently become discouraged. I craved some type of permanence and stability; I wanted responsibility and a challenge. While being in-between assignments afforded me time for creative projects, I found myself less productive than ever.

I longed for structure, longed for work.

I actually found myself longing for a traditional 9-5.

A friend and ex-colleague told me about an open position at my old job. I hemmed and I hawed and I questioned myself. Could I return to my old job? Was that even possible? Would it seem like I was taking a step back? Would it be a positive decision or would it feel desperate?

The more I thought about it, the more the pros outweighed the cons. I loved my job while I had been there, but I left because I was young and stubborn and ambitious, because that next opportunity had been so enticing and, in many ways, though it ended negatively, it had been a learning experience.

And where I’ve been and who I’ve become since is something I will never, ever regret.

I’ve since realized that the fixed track I’d been following was laid out all along, leading me here: right to this moment, to this experience, to this second chance. Interconnected, it has brought me back to the beginning but with lessons learned, a knowledge more profound, a sense of self better realized.

One thing has led to another, and that has all led to a balance of structure and creativity that I hadn’t even realized I had been seeking, that I never believed was really possible.

Once upon a time, I may have dreaded returning to an old job for fear that it was a step back. Now, instead, I have butterflies of excitement as I think about friendly, familiar colleagues and the challenges and responsibilities that await me, realizing that it’s not so much where you’re going, but where you’ve been and how far you’ve come that makes the difference.

A new ride is about to begin. And for the first time in a long time, I’m excited to see what this one has in store.

These are the times of the everyday hero
This is the battlefield of the modern world
There’s a spirit inside that keeps us alive…
Living day to day,
there’s no easy way in this everyday life.
Dolly Parton, “Everyday Hero”

When I was somewhere around eight years old, my family took a vacation down to Tennessee. It was one of my favorite trips, though the memory has somewhat faded with time. I remember being afraid of driving through the Smokey Mountains, but amazed at the height when we paused at a scenic stop; I remember the excitement and entertainment, the colors and chaos of the Dixie Stampede; I remember choosing outfits with my mom as I dressed up for an old-time photograph with my brothers in Dollywood — a photograph that has since faded, like the memory.

I remember, perhaps most of all, our trip back home.

I was tucked in the middle seat with books and toys surrounding me like usual as a blur of green passed the windows. The car was quiet as we immersed ourselves in whatever book or comic we were reading, listening to whatever we had in our walkmans at the time. It was raining out. I remember that the sky was dark and gloomy and gray.

Which is why I was surprised when my dad slowed and pulled over to the side of the road.

I think I was too young to understand what exactly had happened, and the memory has somewhat faded with time, like that photograph, with snippets here and there coming into focus. I remember my brothers and I turned around, leaning on the back of the seats, to watch as he approached a truck way off in the grass that we hadn’t even noticed, the woman slumped against the steering wheel, unconscious.

I remember more cars stopping by to help. I remember my mom telling us to stay where we were in that tone of voice where we knew better than to argue as she grabbed my dad’s green raincoat — I remember that raincoat — and an umbrella and stepped out into the rain herself. I remember someone else directing traffic until the ambulance came.

I remember thinking my dad was a hero.

The other night, I watched as he sat at the kitchen table after the dinner dishes had been cleared, a glass of wine next to him, bills spread out before him. I thought of everything he does, everything he’s been dealing with lately, everything he cares for. I thought how hard it must be to take care of your own mother, your family, your job, your house. I remembered that image of my dad standing in that old green slicker in the rain and how here he was, nearly twenty years later…

And I thought: my dad is still a hero.

There are ordinary people who do extraordinary things and there are extraordinary people who do ordinary things.

Maybe, then, there are both.

Would you choose? Could you choose? Or would you happy with a life led as either?

It’s been a bit over a year since this blog first debuted — a year of ups and downs, highs and lows, tears and laughter. I have changed, I have grown, I have learned. Along the way, I’ve met some incredible people who are traveling this leg of the journey with me — as other young professionals, as other twenty-somethings.

I’ve said before that I believe things are connected — I believe that there are events in your life that make other events possible. I once likened it to a game of connect the dots, but I think that there is more than one puzzle here, all of it connecting to form a much larger picture. So maybe it’s more like a quilt, with each thread forming a patch, and each patch making up the whole of the quilt.

Over the past year, I’ve followed a lot of threads. Some I thought were wrong and I wanted to go back and take out the stitching, to completely redo it. But even mistakes can be beautiful, I’ve come to understand; mistakes mean that you have the chance to learn, grow, and meet people who might have otherwise passed your way, unnoticed…

When I resigned from my job in communications and decided to work as a temporary employee until I found another job, I didn’t expect the places it would lead me. The stress of the job hunt, the desire to express myself and rediscover a passion (and myself), led to the creation of this blog as an outlet. And this blog led to a community of bloggers on Brazen Careerist.

That network on Brazen Careerist led to a community where I could share my own experiences and learn from others, valuing their perspectives, their insights, and even their friendship. It connected me with other young professionals and career strategists who showed me the importance of managing my own career; it was a blend of ideas coming from all angles. It was more than a place to explain your past experience, more than a place to paste your resume and look for a job — it was a place for community and conversation, learning and debate as you began to build your own career and showcase your potential.

Brazen Careerist has expanded upon these ideas, along with the foundation of community, with the launch of their new site. The site implements groups that furthers connections and encourages discussion based on interests and locations, while profiles illustrate your potential by highlighting your ideas and experience. The new homepage features the “Fan Feed,” similar to other social networking sites, which streams ideas and blog posts from other members you choose to follow — your chosen community — and if you’re looking to meet new bloggers and expand those connections, the Featured Posts section is still available on the sidebar.

So many of my own recent threads are all inter-connected, making up the whole of the past two years and experiences I once may have only dreamed of, culminating to bring me to where I am now, all linking back to the starting point of the blog and the people that Brazen Careerist has brought into my life. For me, it goes beyond readers, beyond the blog. It’s a community of professionals that has the ability to turn personal and become such a positive force. Like a neighborhood where people with similar goals but a wide spectrum of interests step onto their porch and share bits of wisdom gained from experience, pieces of their lives that they’re open enough to share so that others may learn and grow as well.

My threads have led me here, making up this community patch in the quilt that might represent my life. Where have your threads led you?

Let it slide,
Let your troubles fall behind you
Let it shine
Until you feel it all around you…
And I don’t mind
If it’s me you need to turn to,
we’ll get by,
It’s the heart that really matters in the end.
Rob Thomas, “Little Wonders”

I’m ok.

For awhile, I didn’t think I was, but I know that I’m well on my way there now.

This past week, I let the weight of my world bring me down, and I fell fast, hitting bottom and reaching a place that I wasn’t sure I could come back from so easily. I’d been there before; I recognized it for what it was, and I knew what was happening. But I didn’t know how far I had fallen until I looked back and realized the magnitude of the changes that had been taking place over the past few days, weeks, maybe even months.

I internalized the difficult situations that were going on around me; I focused on what I had lost rather than being grateful for everything I still had; I began to define myself by external factors, placing all my value in work and related accomplishments. I compared my self-worth to others and battled feelings of inferiority. I foolishly, even dangerously, allowed these thoughts rule me and so I thought, because of that, it was up to me to figure out a way back from the depression I found myself in. Only, I didn’t know how to turn it all around again — to bring back the positive, to return to the person I know I really am.

In all honesty, I was tired of it, I wanted a break from it all — I wanted to hide in my comfort zone, slip back into my shell, pull the covers up over my head and withdraw from the world. And while I felt a longing, a need to surround myself with people, I ended up pushing people further away for my inability to vocalize, admit — or even understand, myself — everything going on within me. And so, unable to let down my guard and say the words even to my family and closest friends, I began to subconsciously create a smiling façade, all the while ignoring responsibilities and making excuses while I placed a wall around myself and retreated.

It all seemed easier than admitting the many mistakes I had made; it was easier than admitting failure — though those mistakes and failures, I have since realized, were only setbacks and maybe not failures at all. Still, this was the mindset that clung to me and that — if I dare to admit — I may have held onto out of fear of finding happiness and success, as irrational as it may seem.

It was a defeatist attitude.

But right now I’m saying the words I know to be true: I am not defeated.

I’ve since realized that sometimes you have a choice when you reach the bottom. You can stay there and drown under self-made weight that threatens to hold you back and drag you down, or you can shed that weight. You can let it go.

Sometimes you can find the strength that seemed lost, but has been there within you all along, and you can use that bottom as a source of renewal as you launch yourself upward and propel yourself forward, as you make your way back to the surface — that place of light and life, that place where you realize you can finally breathe again.

And sometimes, as I’m beginning to really believe, you don’t even have to do it on your own.

I’m not magically transformed. As with anything, that trip back to the surface might take awhile. But I recognize this for what it is and, as such, I know that I’m working my way to something better, out of the depth in which I’d found myself.

I can tell the difference between now and then. I see how changed I am from who I used to be.

It’s how I know I’ll be ok.

I’m not ok.

It’s the sole thought that keeps running through my mind at this moment, and though I try to convince myself otherwise, though I manage to convince even myself that I’m fine, I know that this “not ok” has been lingering there beneath the surface for the past few weeks, maybe even months, taking its time as it rises to the surface as I struggle to push it back down, to keep it all at bay.

I’m not ok. I will be, I know this, I’m sure of it, but I’m not now. And right now, I don’t know how to get ok.

I have been contending with insecurities in a battle I feel I can’t win, doing the one thing I always swore I never would — comparing myself to others and, by that, questioning my own self-worth. In doing so I see myself changing these past few weeks into someone I don’t recognize, someone I don’t like. I can sense myself becoming selfish and self-centered, impatient and unkind; I feel as if all of those things I once valued have been buried under misunderstandings, mistakes, and failures as I struggle to control things I know I can’t, as I struggle to bring my life back into focus, into balance. As I struggle to hold onto the last shred of me.

Depression is a deep, dark, and lonely place and especially hard to admit. Sometimes, you don’t even realize you’re in it until you get out of it. But I’ve been here before, I recognize it, and I know that this isn’t normal, know this isn’t really me. I don’t know when it began or why, and I don’t quite know how to make it end and get back that light that seems to have grown so dim. But I want to. I desperately, desperately want to.

I used to see the world as a place full of hope and good, used to find beauty in everything that surrounded me, the colors so bright and vibrant, everything alive. But now it’s like there’s a thick film across my vision, masking everything in shades of gray. My once optimistic self has turned cynical, and the hope, motivation, and strength — the renewal I felt upon returning from France — has waned.

I find myself going through the motions now, doing things because I force myself to, because I have to, not because I want to. The things that used to bring me the greatest joy now spark momentary hope and excitement before I fall back to insecurity — thoughts of “I can’t do this” and “what does it matter.” And the fear and anxiety that had once dissipated has returned, albeit not completely full-force. I won’t let that happen again.

I find myself seeking my old comfort-zones. I find myself shedding responsibility in order to find solace in writing or dreams because it’s easier than facing the world. I find myself wanting to be there for others, wanting to be selfless, but I’m so clouded by my own thoughts, so stuck in the situations that are going on around me, that I feel myself slipping away from compassion and towards antipathy. That’s not me. That has never been me. And these new feelings scare me. I’m lost. And I’m scared because I’m lost. And I don’t know how to find it all again.

But I will. I don’t know when and I don’t know how, but I know who I am at the core and I won’t let myself become defeated. Still, I feel a little defeated now — a hypocrite, stubbornly hiding under a mask in the hopes that I can do this on my own, a barrage of emotion that I want to escape, though I know that I can’t.

I’ve done the hard part now; I feel a little bit of that weight has been lifted with this admission. But there’s still so much more left. And now I have to stand up and face it all head-on. And I will.

But, I admit, I’m a little afraid to do that, too.