My dream, my Personal Legend, may just be that ridiculously simple:
I want to write and travel.
A few months ago I finally bought an official wordpress domain and the thing to make an official site and I said I’m finally going to do that travel blog. But I havne’t done too much with it.
The past few months I’ve been looking pretty deep into my soul to ask what do I really want to do and who do I want to be and what’s being anyway, and do we even have immortal souls? Perhaps we don’t, at least not in the way we think, that there is some fixed immutable part of us. Instead, we are the flame, ever changing, only alive in dancing. I think this is an intuition I have had a long time.
I can think of thousands of things I want to learn and do with my time on earth. Perhaps I would like to spend a bit more time with my family. But oh, I want to explore.
And I know it’s in me to want to share everything that’s going on inside me, even if I don’t always have the guts to write about it.
The truth is, I’m afraid to be seen. To shine.
Afraid to lose, not just that last ten pounds I carried for so long, but now the extra thirty or maybe forty.
Afraid to let myself be more successful than I feel I have a right to be, what with my job not being so inherently noble or public service oriented as some others.
Afraid to let myself be loved, although that fear has softened recently. I’m not so afraid to give as I am to receive, but if you’ve given enough times to guys you knew you would never be able to receive from that does tend to spoil the fun.
Afraid to be too intimate with life, with my life. More than anything afraid to unpack my suitcases and say, “this is home, ” since, as Paulo Coelho says, “life is the train, not the station.”
I know I will never be a finished masterpiece. I alway swonder when the universe will pull the rug out from under me again, and I’ll end up in a career I never could have envisioned or on a country on the other side of the ocean. It makes it hard to plan too far in the future, and maybe that’s not a bad thing.
The past few years I’ve just been abusing myself for not being enough and for fucking some things up, but maybe they weren’t that big of a deal and whether I realize it or not, I think I have been investing in the right things, really.
Maybe I don’t actually want to buy a house for only myself to live in. Maybe my wings are my roots.
Maybe it’s not the lack of being settled that’s the problem, maybe it’s just the fact I keep on wishing I was like “other people” and trying in different self defeating ways to clip those wings I secretly love so much.
I think as a woman it’s a bit of a crime to love freedom so much, yet at the same time, it feels like self betrayal to want to give up even a bit of that to be a bit less alone.
And I’m not alone. My relationship with my family is getting better and better. I”m glad I didn’t listen to the psychologist. As the coach says, they are only trained to stop you from killing yourself. She talked me out of one form of misery, but she couldn’t teach me to love myself. Or to really know myself.
I want a child or two. I feel like it gets more and more obvious everyday. It seems like a crazy thing for me to want. I’m afraid I couldn’t deal with a cat. I’m afraid I would resent a child, because I am such a self centered person who wants (only) to learn and grow.
I want to publish a book.
I want to travel the world, and not always alone.
Maybe I want a gap year.
Maybe I want to be a digital nomad for a period.
I don’t think I really want van life. I don’t think it’s any more economical than backpacking in most parts of the world I’d really want to go.
If I had a man who would do all the driving and fixing, I would consider it.
And I really, really, really want a man. Like to a somewhat ridiculous extent.
I had a recent encounter that made me realize it’s not really sex, it’s intimacy that I truly crave.
Who the fuck am I?!?!?
I’m afraid of intimacy. To be known, to shine, and be shone upon.
I’m afraid of growing to love somebody that doesn’t fit the archetype I decided I wanted.
I’m afraid of growing to love someone, period. It would feel like less of a choice than the doomed half-love unreciprocated bullshit that has been my specialty.
It has been about three years since my ideal of love finally truly died. Then I re-met someone who I hadn’t taken seriously because he didn’t fit the archetype and hadn’t felt like “the ONe,” the last time, but he had a girlfirned and I don’t think it was ever meant to be.
Just recently I met someone who showed me that all the selfishness I put up with and supposed “dominance” I had craved in a man was just my own tomfoolery. Probably something to do with the blocage against love and intimacy business. No one ever made me feel so human, and I know it’s an experience I will carry with me for a long time.
Too bad he is gone.
I wonder if someday he will be for me, but I am done playing that game.
And I know that if I truly wanted it, there would be some guy in Paris, where I live, for me. There just has to be.
So I am going on another date tomorrow.
I wonder if this last guy was just another one passing through that was meant to teach me something. That is the story I will tell myself for the moment.
I didn’t feel like I would fall in lov ewith him because he wasn’t my type and didn’t elicit the immediate gut level “want” that the others did, and I wondered if my body, brain, and ego could really do without that.
Bu tnow I want him I think, or just intimacy, or something like that.
It’s even changed my taste in smut.
I wonder what it would be like to really write something and try to make it good, and not just smatter on the page.
What would it be to really touch the blank page, and proclaim “I’m a Writer”
First of all, I wouldn’t do that. I hate those people. I don’t like people who self appoint themselves as writers and declare themselves gifted and who relegate their lives to the telling of tales rather than the making of them. I also distrust the idea of any kind of research or commentary on life for tha treason, becuase my american capitofascist indoctrination had it that those types are not worth taking seriously. And sometimes, I see why.
But the truth is, I never wanted to be a decision maker, and I never saw myself as a leader.
I saw myself as a side kick, or a record breaking smart kid, a scientist.
Not a general.
I once wanted to be the firs twoman president, and then in general I just wanted to do things girls weren’t supposed to do , like be an economist, even if I prefered words to numbers.
I’ve always hated that in myself. If I was a boy I would probably have been a West Point Cadet, or no, probably in the Air Force, that’s cooler, or Navy. Or a tech genius in Silicon Valley. Or an investment banker.
But here I am, and it’s time to own it.
Coming home from my latest trip, when inspiration struck me and illumined the person I want to be, here I sit, typing, because from here on out, this is my real work, my vocation, my top priority, and I recognize it as such.
Not family, nor social pressure, nor fear of speaking truth to power is going to keep me away from it. I am working on a new blog, meant for wider distribution, but I will certainly direct a lot of meta commentary here as I always do.
Thank you readers, for bearing witness to me when I didn’t believe in myself and literally just used this blog as a place to lament the rejection of boys I believed knew better than I did.
Thank you for teaching me that my lack of perfection can be loved and the hard edges, the typos, the rambling paragraphs and wandering essays of my peripatetic mind can be loved and of service to others. Thank you for seeing me, in all my anonymity, and making me feel truly beautiful for the first time in my life.
I thought my golden age in Paris as a student was because of the environment, but I also realize that you played a huge part too. This blog gave a home to parts of myself that had never seen the light of day before.
Now the time has come to bravely, dutifully, joyfully, prayerfully shine.
I am incredibly blessed and happy with my life right now. Of course, I am far from a perfect person, but now I finally realize that one can and must love oneself whilst striving to improve, and the target should never be perfection, rather self-actualization. The best me is not going to have all the same qualities as the best somebody else, and that’s not a weakness, it’s a strength.
To be honest, I can’t remember another time that I felt so happy and secure in myself, and so completely blissful about my life.
It wasn’t easy, but I created by the grace of God and with some help from my friends and family the life that I wanted. Of course, I am sure that as I grow and change over time, my interests and goals will change, and that’s ok too.
But I just want to take a moment and say how happy I am. I know I am growing up when I can say that I am spending more time being happy for what I do have than worrying about what I don’t.
I’ve successfully become an adult, and while that felt at one point like a one way , one dimensional arrow that would mean an end to change, growth, and non linearity, now I know it’s just a solid foundation. Know thyself, that’s what I have done.
There are still many new dreams I dream yet I know now, from all those I have achieved, that happiness comes from within, and even if I drop 20 pounds tomorrow, pay off all my debt, or find a boyfriend, my happiness still depends on me. You can have all your wildest dreams come true but unless you’re in the headspace to appreciate it, you can’t be happy. Being happy is not easy, it takes strength and is not for the faint hearted.
Like kindness, it’s an act of courage and faith, a moral choice.
Can I acknowledge all that’s not right in the world and not perfect in my own life and within myself and still be happy? Yes, I can and I must. I want to be. And that’s not insensitivity, that’s gratitude.
And self-love too, which can mean toughness and self discipline, but can also mean 2 days in your pajamas without beating yourself up over it. It must mean letting past mistakes go, and thanking God for the grace of a second chance. Overall, it must mean living the life that makes your heart sing. And it’s undeniable when you’ve found it, when you’ve found the gifts that you need to share and the things that make you you.
This year, I want to do more of that. Yes, I want to exercise and eat healthy, but playing small is not going to help me or the world. I can’t focus on my figure without giving my gift away. The two things go together, I think. I have a lot of songs that need to be sung, words that need to be written. I have been blessed with so much, and the ability to communicate, and I need to share what I’ve learned.
It’s not about finding meaningful work, or making myself happy. It’s about sharing my unique perspective on life with others, no matter how flawed it may be.
There is no particular box, or array of boxes which once checked will bring perfect happiness. That’s something I have learned many times the hard way.
All those supposed missteps and mistakes, which gave me a meandering path and made it hard to figure out my identity, which made me think there were parts of myself I needed to either cut off or agglomerate with some shallow stereotype of capitalist or bohemian or what have you, those are the things that make me special. Everything that doesn’t fit into the box, every line I have colored outside of, despite my best efforts to conform, most of the time.
Finally, I think I have found my passion, and you’re looking at it. It took everything to get here, just look back at all that’s on this blog for starters.
Now I can bless every mistake, every moment of self sabotage, every tear shed in frustration. Now I know there are no mistakes, and self sabotage is a message from your soul that you’ve missed the point. Sometimes there is no alternative to losing to teach you how much you are truly worth, and what matters, and that the whole notion of winning and losing isn’t that wise anyway. There’s just living. All of this.
No work, no life, no work/life balance. It’s all life. No business, no art, no travel, no stability, it’s all the same. Just moments, cut from the same cloth. Anything else is an illusion.
And it’s all life, all numinous, all sacred and profound. Not all signs and symbols and hidden meaning, but every breath is powerful and precious and holy and unique. Every breath.
Now I need to live that way.
So it may or may not have come to your attention how much I like to hate on American girls who have no ambitions or interests in life but to stay in France, marry a French guy, and do French things, like not being able to pronounce their future husband’s name.
Meanwhile, I am pretty much bilingual, have a teeny accent, read works of literature on the metro, and have a “real” job and “real” ambitions, and I am single yet o so much more worthy of (and starving for) love.
Another group of people I love to hate are artists, “writers” and “photographers” especially. Everyone is a critic, when you express an interest in something. Hell, my tendancy is to provide honest remarks or just cheerleading to people who ask me what I think about their writing- hint, I rarely like it- and there’s nothing that’s more annoying than having someone school you on photography while they take 2 shots for every 500 of yours and yes, you end up getting the kind of photos you like to show to your parents which were not destined for an art gallery as well as some cool shots which honor your artistic side.
LIke the one time I went with a friend to an art exhibition and the woman wrote songs and poetry, took photos (which looked like corporate stock photography, if that , and directed short films. As my friend said, it was a little infuriating to see basically just narcissism and a closed cirlce (to the point of locking the doors during the poetry part so the group wouldn’t be interrupted as the goalwasn’t really to bring more people in), just a mutual admiration society. It was more about her vision and how she sees the world than about the world itself, or any compellingtruth she had to offer. ANd it wasn’t really well done. She could have honed her craft (s) a bit more.
And is there anything as annoying as Cheryl Strayed in Wild with her self consciousness of being a Writer and a Feminist and a left winger? Of course i loved thebook and I have a lot of respect for her, but she definitely strayed into recklessness and not just adventure at certain points in her story- not a great example for young readers- I’m not talking about the heroin addiction, I’m talking about like, basic mountain safety. but when you are a “writer” it’s all part of the “journey,” and you know, being a writer is the most important and blessed things about yourself and makes you more fucking special than any other person in the world that doesn’t have a Calling and isn’t dignified by their tortured genius being rejected by mainstream bourgeois culture.
A close second is the traveler identity. It fits me but I try not to rub it in. I try not to country count compare. I try not to make it about how many greek isles I’ve seen or haven’t seen. I try to remember that traveling is a privilege, and not to act like a privileged spoiled bitch. No, I dind’t get a trip to Paris in the spring every year, and while it would have been nice, I had a mighty fine childhood, thank you very much…
Also there is nothing nothing nothing that bothers me more, in case you couldn’t tell, then any of these PHONIES getting accepted by some wider group and getting to share their “struggles.” Because getting an MFA makes you a writer! Because the size of your camera determines whether you are “real’ or not! Because we’re all just misunderstood France girls and who are we kidding, I want a boyfriend too!
The peson I often hate the most and have to really stop myself from acting mad at is someone I work in collaboration with at times. She is Indian and has lived in america for a long time, and works in a communications role in a fairly senior role. However, she makes elementary grammar mistakes, is not a great writer or communicator, and yet, she gets to be head of something for a very established company whereas the FUCKING FRENCH will never let me do anything more than write an email. NOT EVEN A FRANCOPHONE WHO GOT THEIR WHOLE EDUCATION IN FRENCH WOULD BE ALLOWED TO DO HER JOB IN FRANCE. And I am FUCKING JEALOUS that she seems to be better accepted in her host culture, certainly makes more money, and isn’t particularly bright otherwise. Just a compliant moron, which is what corporate america deserves I guess with the culture of fear and high stakes competition. THANK GOD FOR FRANCE.
And now let me tell you what I hate about myself.
I hate that I am not a writer, that I mostly only write for my less than sexy but bill paying and actually very satisfying corporate job. I hate that I don’t submit my stuff to magazines, because it is no worse than the clickbait I read every day. I hate that I don’t make not just the time for it, but the mental energy. FOr a while there, I felt like I was killling the interwebs with my confusion and self absorbed cerebral ness , but hey, what is the internet without that? not to mention, I have a voice, and it is a shame for it not to be heard. I am ashamed I have not submitted any articles to magazines.
I had a dream a book of poems of mine were published, and I haven’t written poetry in a long time.
IT FELT SO GOOOOD.
LIke, there was a feeling of fulfillment in getting my creative self out there and acknowledged in a way nothing else in the achievement or management game has ever brought me. LIke wow, that was the feeling of success.
So I need to DO THAT.
Iappreicate my respect for silence and to mull things over and to get bilingual, but the truth is I just need to fucking write. Really.
Yeah, I need to get on that.
I can write about happy things for sure. Really.
ANd that’s the turth, despite these rants I am really really happy.
Also the guy who said he wanted something seirous and then cancelled our dates twice in a row at the last minute twice in one week,and then I got mad at him and said I didn’t want to see him anymore, and then he said, good bye kisses when I apologized, and then he said we’ll talk about it when we see each other, but we didn’t see each other and he wasn’t talking to me, and then I apologized again for losing my temper, and then I reached out to him to say I was going on a weekend last minute trip and he said have a good time and somehow I tried to wish him well with all his problems and said swhat I thought was like, let time do its work, whatever will be will be, and then he’s like, well then stop writing to me…I wished him well.
I realize that a cynic is a disappointed romantic, and I haven’t believed in love, not only since my breakup with my ex, but probably before when he first started being sometimes jerky to me and started acting like a loser. What is a loser but a lost soul, anyway? The truth is that I always needed someone “better” he was never really my equal. Only the fact he was older and I was naiive and insecure gave the illusion that he ever was. ANd I didn’t care, because I wanted someone to love him. Fuck, I still do. But yeah, it’s important for me to realize I will never get back the time I spent with him, good and bad, and tring to pre screen every situation to ensure the person is perfect before getting into it, or that it will lead precisely to the outcome I want, is folly. I can’t get back the time I spent pining over my never quite boyfriends and the one that got away (good riddanece FUCK YOU CAPTAIN AMERICA, I pity you so I can’t be tht mad…) and trying to keep my heart out of the game is not going to help. Indeed, forgettingabout my heart does NOT seem to be working for me. And trying to find the wperfect person isn’t, nor is well, trying so hard. Nor is reminding myself about how epheremal time is.
What does help is the prospect of a solo weekend. Paradise. Doing something cultural.
Not paradise, exactly, but o so good.
And no reason to search franticially for Mr Right. It will happen when it hapens, and I hopeit does. And life is so so wonderous. My life truly is full. My cup is full to running over.
And I am so hapy I’ve become myself. I am soo happy that no one stopped me from doing the thigs I wanted to do .
ANd I am so happy it didn’t work out with aforementioned T, because he JUST COULD NOT KEEP UP WITH ME. I was on level 40 nad he s more on level 30 fo rsomethings although perhaps more matre than me in other wys.
I try not to fomo too much or yoyolo either, but in the end, I am happy andsustainable and growing, and that matters a lot.
I fel very confused annoyed mostly SAD because I thought I might be able to apply for French citizenship but I don’t think that it will work quite yet. I think I will have to wait the full five years. Like writing a doctoral thesis dammit!
Another bubble that has really, really, burst and died a slow and ugly death is the idea that having a husband and kids- forever- is the END ALL BE ALL of happiness.
When I asked a friend who has been married, had children and divorced, if it was all it was cracked up to be, she said, “It can be.”
NOt to mention that one of my closest companions these days is a 40 year old who lives like a 25 year old. SHe’s been very successful in her career and wow, she is a lot of fun. ANd she LOVES HER LIFE. and she just piced up and moved to pariswhen he felt like it, and looks forward to having another boyfriend soon maybe. She is truly a happy person, and not lonely in the least. Killing it in life.
And then there are people who do have that special person, and of them I am truly a bit jealous. But many many of thecouples I know closely elicit my deep suspicion.
I know no one is perfect, but hey, myfriends deserve the best.
Coupledom seems to be a bit of an arrangement to live with each other’s flaw. As my greatest teacher and greatest pain in the ass told me, “Our flaws don’t fit each other.”
C’est la vie.
So the story canchange, the angels and heroes can fall from their perches, the villains can turn into sints in teway I perceived them, unfairly, even at the time.
Thank you for our lessons, whether you were aware of them or not.
And please go fuck yourselves.
Anger feels so good, isince I suppressed it for so long.
The old story was that I was so grossly imperfect, that I was fortunateto find someone who would take me as a i am,and this person was probaby “better” than me on some kind of evolutionary/social /cultural /fame/money/power/class/WEIGHT etc scale, and I was lucky to even have their eyes. THey were so good to me, because they weren’t always dicks. THey didn’t make funof me all the time and yet had so much material to draw from. ANd they all made their own promesses, or at least allowed me to keep on with thoughts of mine.
THey also tried to stop me from loving them, of course. Evenmore saintly.
But in the end, none of the goes was really a hero or a villain, no matter how many times I tried to figure them out. They did wrong things and there can be no question of it. THey weren’t right for me for many reasons, I agree completey to that.
But the most important thing now, is just to forget them. Open the coffin, and burn the contents.
THey werenever meant to be a place to visit on my dark days either. THe good times will always stay with me.
A now you have a bit of the macabre for halloween too.
Yes, life si complicated sometimes.
It really can be.
But it is, really, relaly GOOD.
and most importnantly< I have faith.
Not in “love” not in the “notebook,” not in losing weight, not in changing rlosing or gaining religion, not in anything but Life I supose.
I pray for thegrace to accept mystory, and to stop wishing for what sems like the ideal. That I migthe strive to be the best person I can, without shame of being imperfect. THat I might continue to strive, but more gently, and withmore convicntion.
THat I might be good, despite of my fallible nature.
ANdmost of all, that I see the love all around me.
Hope you have a lovely night.
Gloria Steinem quote, if I am not mistaken.
I do not want to become French, and I am not enjoying my experience here as muh as I hoped, and o by the way, my value system really contradicts France’s (over a year of socialist immersion hasn’t broken me, at least not yet),and yeah I am actually excited to begin some aspects of “adult life” dun dun dun and this is not where I want to build my life sooo
Au revoir, la belle France and all its merde. At least when the opportunity comes.
Unless there’s some sort of dramatic happening that changes everything.
I am creative and fiery, I need to be doing something creative, if I am not creating I cannot be happy.
Also, I kind of really want to be a writer of some kidn when I grow up. As fate would have it, I am in some ways a professional writer now, though that’s really not what I planned…
In the long term I am probably not all that well suited for corporate life, at least not in semi stuffy non free wheeling places, so well, that’s that…
When the student is willing the teacher will appear, and such has been my case as I’m sure it will be for my next job.
And after literally seeing a pretty good chunk of the world, I do want to go back to where I started, Washington DC, and see it with new eyes.
And o by the way, that dude I’ve been crushing on for forever- not impressed with him. He is probably just ill-equipped to relate to me in ways I would like and he is just unattached to me at this point, or so I think. It’s complicated, but basically the point is that I finally realize, it shouldn’t be.
And I want to be happy more than I want to force being with him. in fact, I am just done with forcing things at all because it never works out right and it costs so much energy.
And for the first ish time in my life, I am going to go with my gut and not with my fear. Decisionmaking is painful but it doesn’t have to be, probably. At least now, I am just going to try my best and instead of trying to find some ultimate solution, just freakin
Do WHAT I WANT TO DO!
Amen (to myself)
and no apologies either.
So there’s been a bit of silence from me despite having lots and lots to do. I needed the time to reflect and go on Facebook and have adventures.
It would be really cool to be like Alexis de Tocqueville or a NYT editorial columnist (or wall stret journal) or Liz Gilbert of Eat, Pray, Love.
ANd in order to do this, I have to have a full life to write about- that means some quiet reflection as well as whatver the life of action I might choose to lead. Because I am PASSIONATE about sharing my experiences.
I wanted to be a professor because I wanted to share big ideas and teach and have credentials and be an expert.
But you don’t need a phd to do that, and having a phd is not exatly about that when it comes down tot he nitty gritty.
I wanted to do management if for no other reason to support myself and get to put some of that big picture thinking into action. I’ve learned a lot.
These days libraries don’t tempt me so much- it’s the call of the open skies and the lives I haven’t lived yet.
My angst over my quarter life crisis and obsession with my self has led me to want to help others in the same position- and there are a lot.
And there’s just some part of me that’s a crazy exhibiionist, not loud but the life of a corner of the party,
I’ve always felt like, when I had a sympathetic ear, I talked too much.
Maybe that’s alright- I have a lot to say, and I make some good stories.
Not always on purpose though.
And I’ll say this- that if I could do any kind of meaningful work, on any given day, it would have something to do with sharing and writing and thinking. It may not always be in written form.
Recently I’ve noticed something wonderful in myself, the ability to look at someone and see them for all they could be, and to believe so strongly in them that they are forced to at least confront the reality of all the good that is in them. That’s a gift of mine.
And I can see the man in the child and the child in the man.
I’ve learned a lot about the power of being a woman- someone came to make me dinner when I was unable to leave the house do to a sprained ankle, and it was wonderful
And yes, I’ve been on facebook a lot, facebook is part of my calling. Who else wouild share random news stories and inspirational stickers???
And I believe in myself, that even my “day job” is part of my dreams, and that living my truth, my calling, is not just a matter of what I do for a living. I don’t have to rearrange my life, I do have to follow my heart.
Any crap about designing your life is just bullshit. You design your life around your heart, not just some abstract concept of what the “good life,” should be, cuz that’s just an empty concept like anything else. We need meaning even more than we need the trip to the beach, though the trip to the beach can be the meaning 😉
Just feeling incredibly grateful for all that is.
It’s time to really write.
Also I”m going to have o work on coming up with a good pseudonym. I think it will be a French name. Big surprise.
And maybe I won’t leave France- maybe this is my adventure- don’t know. It’s up to fate.
But i”m here now, and I’m going to make the best of it.
I spend an inordinate time blogging about the “bad” things, about the uncomfortable feelings, and about endless mental biting of fingernails, scratching off my skin, and dissection of every body part and moment of life until I’m just a collection of damaged pieces, comparing myself to everyone in a world where I’ll never be good enough.
They say you shouldn’t be too dependent on external validation, but today i got some external validation that was important to me.
Yesterday I became a published author on the indie magazine elephant journal. http://www.elephantjournal.com/2014/01/dont-forget-to-smell-the-roses-megan-jones/
It’s adapted from a blog post.
I told one of my best firends about it, posting it on his Facebook wall. i did not post it on my own facebook wall, because I don’t want people to know I have deep thoughts or to brag. Actually, I think I should post it, I think I want to, anyway…
He didn’t read it right away, and being my best friend, I spent a good deal of time venting to him about Y and being all confused although maybe there’s not that much to be confused about.
Not important right now.
Anyway, he read my article and liked it. To have someone in my real life who’s not a writer like my writing means something, and the fact that it got published is pretty cool. In retrospect, I feel like all the sudden self induced suffering over Y was just a cover up for the complex feelings of exposure and vulnerability this brought me. There are some copy edit issues, and my article isn’t quite exactly in the stle of this magainze that I devour daily and as I read it, actually seems somewhat original. Everything is not quite perfectly tied up in a bow. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask you to excuse the errors and preemptively apologize for everything an say how it could have been better.
Anyway, tha was validation that actually meant something to me. Not unlike his blog, but it’s always much more vulnerable to expose yourself to people you know in real life.
And also let it be noted that my first instinct was not to share i with Y not only because it’s in English though it would have been a good pretense for emailing him but also because I don’t think he really gets it, I’m not sure if he really gets me. And the truth is it doesn’t really matter. And that there is someone out there, and luckily many people in my life, who will.
Thank you gentle readers for listening to me and giving me the courage and encouragement to share.
I just returned from Asia, where I completed my international business degree and also enjoyed a brief detour in Thailand. I went to India, China, and Japan to take courses and meet with businesses operating there- it was a really rich experience.
Now it’s time to try to turn some of what I learned into a career- about myself, about the world, the role of business within it, and what the heck I’m actually here for.
I don’t have any crystal ball or five year plan; I’m continuing to try to find work in Paris, where my heart is, though I know it’s an uphill battle and I’m eager to get work that will improve my career and quality of life.
As of now, the MBA feels like a mixed bag. It was a good experience, I learned a lot, but maybe it was an expensive mistake. There are times I’ve felt completely out of place and have no sense of where my place might actually be. I seem to be going in exactly the opposite direction of what I expected when I started.
I don’t quite have a philosophy of life or a clear direction, except that I really want to get a PhD, and live in France for a year or two more and speak French to perfection.
I also want a boyfriend, and maybe things will work out that way with Y, the guy I met through serendipity in Paris and keep in touch with. I don’t know really if we have enough in common but I sure do miss him.
If things don’t work out in France, I will need to temporarily retreat and try something else. I’m not trying to prepare for failure, but just to be aware of it as a potential outcome.
They say when God closes one door, He opens another.
I still have kind of crappy self esteem at times. It’s hard for me to imagine why anyone will ever hire me given my lack of experience and how out of place I’ve felt in business school. I don’t really know what I want to do either, besides right challenging and deep books.
Maybe that’s what I’ll do while looking for employment.
But I made it through the program, and I have some sense of where I want my next career stop to be: academia.
I feel like I’m taking a lot of leaps of faith, but I need to actually believe in myself in order to really do so.
I got a tattoo of a lotus flower.
I guess I still feel and sound kind of sad, but I’m hopeful.
I think I’m learning I need to trust in something greater than my own vision or cunning.
I’m also learning that I am responsible for my life, and i have to trust myself.
God bless you all. It’s been a great run on this blog, but I think the time has come to leave it behind. I may or may not start another one and begin the self reflective process all over again.
But ultimately, I’ll have to learn by doing. By trying, and maybe failing.
I don’t know exactly who I’m becoming, but I do know that I’m stronger than I was yesterday, I’ve seen more of this beautiful world, and I have love in my heart.
I guess that’s all I really need to know.
I’ve had a hard time figuring out what I want. Nothing really seems to tickle my fancy. I grew up with the follow your passion, fancy liberal arts school message with the ambition and appreciation of my opportunities that came as a scholarship student. I’ve not yet had to eat exclusively potatoes or mac and cheese as the price of living my dream, and i feel duly privileged. Taking a look at this article, I presaged as an unpaid or not paid enough intern myself (thank you, fancy liberal arts college scholarships and supportive parents) realizing that “follow your dream” comes a bit harder to a lot of people, and that in the economic times we are living in stability is a pipe dream even for those once in cushy middle management positions. The white collar no longer protects against a pink slip, and no amount of education, goodwill, or hardwork can protect you against the throes of destiny.
And with the conscientious you picked up at said liberal arts college, and the feeling that you MUST live something like an authentic life, come what may, it becomes increasingly hard to swallow all the BS, sit down and do your accounting homework, and be grateful it’s not worse. Because you can imagine things actually being better.
Because you have an imagination, and can and choose to do one thing many people avoid like the plague: think. And, thanks Captain Obvious, write.
Basicaly, my life’s dream is just to pontificate and have people listen. I’ve thought about politics, academia, and now business. All of these are kind of oblique paths to pick up the credibility, skills, and sense that I’ve tried another path- the normal, obvious, thing you’re supposed to do. You’re not supposed to actually want to scribble in a carnet au bord de la Seine, thinking you’re Gertrude Stein’s great niece of some sort or that secretly all those great thinkers from Jefferson to Sartre are somehow smiling down on you.
Yeah, all I really want to do is think, express myself in a way that compels people to think and to act for themselves, and hopefully see the world a better place.
A lot of people have been utopists and done a lot of bad stuff to the world inadvertently. Which is part of the reason why I wanted to have a thorough grounding int he world, since I’ve been told “you’re so smart you’re stupid,” and that I need to get my head out of the clouds.
I also think it just provides a good reservoir of angst for future creative production. That doesn’t sem partciularly healthy…
Can a mostly well adjusted person with many normal paths open choose to take the creative one in the face of uncertainty? can my creativity be more than words on a page and just a resourceful way to live life clser and closer to how I aimgine, or rather, in accordance with my ideals?
I don’t want to tell anybody what to do. I don’t wnat people to respect me for how much money I make or how many people are under me or how many widgets my factory produces. All those things are great though. I want people to respect me for how I think, that’s all.
They don’t have to agree, they just have to be engaged.
And somewhere along the way I do still want that middle class salary and a tenth of the profits from Lean In, at least. Oprah is the most famous and rich woman ever and all she does is have conversations with people, pretty much.
So maybe it’s time to look at a job as a job *le sigh of release* my job is not my identity. But at least I finally have one! Or rather, at least I’m willing to own it!
And I can have a great job, and a great life, and just admit that the goal is to spend some time scribbling au bord de la Seine and inspiring millions. Nothing vain, bourgeois, hipster, or entitled about that.
If the only thing I ever do in my life is have a good adventure, I think that will be enough.
Because if I had everythign else, but I didn’t have adventure- which is to say, God, mystery, uncertainty, the unknown, and I think love probably qualifies with that- I’d relly have nothing.
I’m not really against corporate culture, or Big Macs, or even women who choose to veiil their hair. What I am against? Nihilism. Not believing in anything. Materialism. Living death- much as I enjoy the Waking dead.
i am for occasionally being late. I am for not necessarily being 100% kosher. I am for living life, and taking its highs and its lws and not drugging myself to an artificial medium.
So hang on for the ride!