The Search Continues

Today is a fairly dreary day in New England. I actually quite enjoy days like this. They are good for reflection. And there are some excellent jams on at work (currently: Guster <3). I keep coming back to the concept of what I am meant to do and today seemed like a good day to have a think about it.

Don’t get me wrong, I actually enjoy my job most days. Not always all the people I work with but who likes all of their co-workers all the time? I am good at what I do--I am a wiz with the software and being detail oriented comes naturally. And girl can multitask with the best. Lately, I just feel...empty when I leave. Emotionally drained. Stressed to the point my muscles hurt. I am the type of employee that comes in and does more than my share of the work, never shying away from taking on more. I naturally try to climb any ladder there is. But these days it all seems so… Meaningless. I am a cog in the corporate machine. I work on the fringe of large companies, adding to the empire of The Man. I just never thought I’d be here. I never thought “Hey girl, what about a business career? Or one that works hand in hand with big business?” Sure, there was a hot second in college where I thought PR was the route for me. That lasted a semester. I realized my peers were driven by the almighty dollar and that I wouldn’t survive in an industry like that.

I always saw myself as a teacher or a community leader or even working in women’s rights. My fancier day dreams lead me to a life of the stage or running my own literary magazine or (and WHOA-dream big here) having my own show on Food Network. Or to be the most academically gay person possible (see below for an explanation). Now, I feel far less sure of myself and wish I had the excitement for what could be as I used to. There are days I feel trapped here because of money. Wouldn’t be extremely irresponsible if I left and ended up someplace I made less? If we want a house, a second car, a kid, or heck-even a vacation shouldn’t I do the right thing for us and stay?

How do we, as adults, create a fulfilling life? How do we find a place in the world that balances needs and expression? Is it possible? Scratch that. Is it possible without working 2 or more jobs?

In general, I feel like I do not excel. Like I am something akin to a jack of all trades-knowing about a lot of things but never mastering anything. Maybe I don’t give myself enough credit or maybe I am dead on. Maybe I recognize that I can do a few things but don’t think it is good enough. The hardest part of reflecting on this is trying to figure out what it is that I am good at and trying to take that a step further.

My dad wanted us to start a catering business or restaurant specializing in Hawaiian food. While I’d love to honor that dream I don’t know if I live in a market where that would be profitable. I also worry I am too far removed for it to be authentic enough.

...But I can marry flavors like a boss. I have shown that in cupcakes and candy. A bakery or sweet shop has been on my radar since I graduated high school. I got accepted to Johnson and Wales for baking. It was a huge victory for me. However, having any kind of business is super risky and takes far more money than I have available. I can talk about food for daaaaaaays, which has always made me want to have a food show. But then I remember that I am fat and worry no one would watch it because of that.

In college, I worked on our literary magazine for a semester as an editor. It was exhilarating to pick the pieces and try to fit them together in an abstract story. I’ve thought about trying to start one online but have no idea where to even begin.

And then there is my love gender and queer studies. My goal for awhile was to be the most academically gay person alive. Degree in Gender and Queer Studies and working for a non-profit or queer publishing house. Maybe teaching it. I can read gender and queer symbolism easily and find it fascinating.

...I don’t even know where I am going with this post anymore. I am impressed if you made it this far. Here’s hoping today’s contemplation is a step closer to figuring out what I want to be when I grow up.

The Concept of Home

There are two things in my family that seem to be temporary situations: marriage and where you live. Something I continually struggle with, in my lighter and darker times, is the concept of home.What is it? Where is it? Where is mine? Why don't I feel like it applies to me?

Please understand that I 100% mean the abstract, conceptual meaning here. The place where you feel home instead of your physical habitat. Nor am I talking about the idea that home is where your heart is, because to quote Dr. Horrible's Sing-A-Long Blog: "...Home is where your heart is/So your real  home's in your chest." I've never been one to share feelings. And while co-habitating with The Husband is great, I don't feel like I am "home" because he is there.

We moved around. A lot. Or at least a lot for the average family. Places I can remember living? 13. 14 if you count my semester of dorm living and 15 if you count my Aunt's house in San Diego where I spent most of my summers. There were 3 (I think) other places where we lived but I was too young to remember. Other than a trailer in New Hampshire, we didn't own any of the places where we lived. When you move around that much you learn not to become attached to the house/apartment/cottage/whatever where you lay your head. I have learned a lot moving around this much: Moving is terrible. Never fully unpack--you don't know when you'll have to pack it all up again. Always know where your empty boxes are or where to get some (working retail really helped here!). Use those 3M sticky hooks instead of nails so you don't have to fill holes later. Resepct the integrity of the place and clean the hell out of it when you leave to make sure your get that security deposit back. Learn to make do with the tiniest of kitchens.

That lack of attachment has always made me feel like I don't have a "home" to call my own. The nomadic instincts are still in me. I cruise craigslist all the time for apartments and condos and houses. Not that we are in a position where we could afford to move/rent/buy anything else right now, but there is a weird bit of hope that comes through when I comb through these ads. An idea of what could be. A buried need to feel the security of having both a home and a "home." To not fear the security deposit. To decorate and paint and create living spaces unabashedly. To throw a dinner party or any party really and not worry about the space. The freedom to do anything I chose in the privacy of something that is truly mine (well, ours). And to not worry about if there is lead paint in this old ass apartment if I become pregnant.

But "home" isn't just a home. It's where you are truly rooted. For some, their home country or the town they grew up in, etc. provides that feeling. I suppose, the closest I have is Gloucester. It's about as homey as I can muster. not a terrible place but there is much to be desired. Sometimes I wonder if going back to San Diego would be a better fit and make me feel more at "home". Unfortunately, I can't shake the feeling that, much like my father, "home" is Hawai'i. Beautiful, magical, mysterious, something that I feel a part of and is a part of me.

Maybe I am not destined to know. Perhaps I am meant to be nomadic, never truly rooted. I just often wonder what I am missing by having a home but never a "home."

What Am I Meant to Do?

Lately I have been struggling with the idea of what I am "meant" to do. Do we have a purpose? How is one supposed to know they are fulfilling this purpose? How does one acheive this atonement with the universe? And most importantly, why can't I figure out my place in said universe?

For those who know me, I have had a tragic yet ecelectic college "career." I applied as pre-law but wasn't accepted to that program... So naturally I went as far in the opposite direction I could, to the place that felt the most like home in high school. I enrolled as a Fine and Performing Arts major with my concentration being theatre. After being in school for one semester (one which has yeilded the best stories of utter co-ed HORROR) I left because I coudn't afford it. Take note of this last line. It's a common theme.

After a little time off, I went to Salem State then College/now University. Enrolled as a Crimanl Justice major with a concentration in forensics. After my orientation, and an introduction from the worst department chair on the face of the Earth, I switched to Spanish. Espanol! Me gusto espanol mucho! The goal was to be a high school Spanish teacher. And then I left because I couldnt afford it.

I went back to Salem State as an English major with my concentration being Secondary Education. However, during this time I fell in love with geology. Naturally, I decided to double major. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahhahaha. Working full time plus multiple majors plus labs that felt they were extended lectures so you have to do lab work on your own time plus sick and or dying family members equals the start of a spiral so far down you can't see the end. I dropped my geology major and lasted another semester before I failed out.

My last semester I found two things that brought me great joy: a class editing the college's literary magazine and a seminar on Willa Cather that looked at her works from the point of view of space/gender/sexuality. Both made me want to do something related to each as a career. Maybe both! Edit a gender/gay focused literary magazine? I don't know. It sounded like a good plan then.

Since then I have worked customer service jobs that at times feel like they drain the very essence of my soul out and replace it with an ulcer's ichor.

Knowing I have been searching for meaning, The Husband has encouraged me to take classes or go back to school. However, my schedule at work is not felixble enough to do this. And, (wait for it....) we can't afford that. I applied to a local community college a few years ago for their culinary program, but realized too late we weren't going to afford it. Bummer, but I moved on.

Since then, I've thought about going to school for baking. Or going for cosmetology. Or finishing my english degree and teaching. Or going for a degree in Women's Studies. Everytime I think I have made a decision, fear of failure and disappointing people creeps in and paralyzes me.

When faced with continual self doubt, how can one confidently make a decision like this? Which one is the right choice? How do I know?

I talked to The Husband about this feeling. How I don't feel like I have a purpose or meaning. He suggested going to church. I was raised Catholic but don't agree with a lot of their teachings (although, the new Pope is pretty dope). We have a UU church down the street, which is an option. But as someone who believes more in the occult than traditional religion, how do I go to church and asked a God I am not convinced is there for help or guidence? How do I walk into their house and not feel... disingenuous?

Worse: what happens if I go and there is nothing? No sign. No help. No guidence. Doesn't that make me more of a failure? Should I skip the church and divine with a pendulum to see what is the best fit? Is that cheating myself of some miraculous self-discovery I have been lacking all these years?

What I do know is as the days pass I begin feeling more trapped. Caged. Captive. Alone in my head tossing around all these questions and scaring myself into silence, trapping parts of myself that want to be set free.