Coins in the Couch Cushions

When I was a kid, I used to look through the couch cushions for loose change to buy candy or add to my piggy bank, and there was nothing quite like the simple eureka of finding shiny little coins in the couch. As I grew older, I exchanged looking for coins in the couch for “Shiny Object Syndrome,” where I’d gather new interests as I found them, determined that this shiny new hobby would become my “thing,” and discarding the ones that had lost their shine.

If you know, you know.

Shiny Object Syndrome does not discriminate, and many of my interests have been piqued after seeing or reading about someone else’s experience. A few notable ones of mine include: taking up soap making after visiting a friend who makes soap, deciding that I loved film photography after I stumbled onto a TikTok page dedicated to film photography, creating an website after I typed in a particularly lucrative phrase into Google that pulled up a wealth of blogs, listicles and 7 steps to website building.

The cycle for me, is always the same. I discover my shiny object in the couch of everyday life, and the shine on it holds a promise of information, ideas and experiences that I have not yet touched. And I can’t help myself. Researching, graduating to buying/ordering supplies, diving right in and doing it badly, all the way up to achieving something you’re proud of has always given me such a thrill. It feeds that impulsive part of my nature as a child where I’d pick up new creative projects on the daily.

If you’ve ever fallen victim to Shiny Object Syndrome, you’ll likely have a list of similar experiences you could mention, and many more that have since been tamped down- either marked as a failure, or shoved back into your closet, waiting for a moment of inspiration, remembrance or nostalgia to be brought back into the limelight.

For the most part, this has always been a personal trait/syndrome that I’ve accepted and worn proudly. “My role is in Admin, but it’s a mix of just about everything,” I’d tell people when they asked me what I did for a living. It felt like the most appropriate way to answer that question, because I didn’t do any one thing. Even at my paid job, I was getting saddled with projects that could’ve fallen in a number of different categories because I welcomed the challenge.

But in the last few years, and most especially the past six months, Shiny Object Syndrome has lost some its’ luster that once made it so attractive to me and a tiredness has settled over me. I’ve tried so many different hobbies and options for skill development; as a result of skipping from one project to the other, I’ve developed a rough patchwork of talents that simultaneously give me a wide breadth of knowledge, but are not cohesive enough to give me a true sense of purpose or identity that makes me feel even remotely marketable, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ve wasted the last ten years.

The answer is simultaneously, “yes, you’ve wasted the last ten,” and “no, you haven’t wasted the last ten.”

It’s no, because variety is the spice of life. It’s no, because the occasional window-shopping and trying hats on for a hot minute to be able to decide it’s not for you can be just what the doctor ordered.

It’s no, because you are allowed to evolve, and some of the quickest and greatest evolving we will ever do will be the period of transition from our teens all the way to our thirties (evolution never stops, but it does slow down due to our thirties being the period I like to call, “settled in Adulthood”).

It’s yes, because the older you get, the more you realize that time is the most valuable asset any of us has, and it needs to be invested wisely. If you jump in and out of hobbies, they will be the time equivalent of little 401K nothings from jobs you didn’t stay at for long.

It’s yes, because there is something to be said for “sticking it out.” There are highs and lows to every hobby, every career, every relationship and every facet of life. Knowing everything today doesn’t mean knowing everything tomorrow, just like a bad day doesn’t mean it’s a bad life.

It’s no, because much of the continuity in your life (not all), for better or worse, is negative, or at least boring. Work is constant. It’s washing the dishes to be able to cook, then rewashing those dishes to be able to cook tomorrow; it’s cleaning, just to have to clean again, it’s paying bills just to have to pay them in a month, and it’s paying taxes just to have to pay them again 365 days later. And if you want to shake up an aspect of your life every month, every quarter or every year- then it’s nobody’s damn business but your own really.

While all of these thoughts make sense and encourage me to be kinder to myself, the frustration, depression and general feelings of existential dread have made the last couple of months unbearably frustrating, because I know that I can no longer continue on in the way I have for so many years. The era is over, and I need to let it go; It simply doesn’t make sense for me anymore, but the dread and general depression of having to focus on one or two big goals when there are so many projects I’d like to pick up is hard to come to grips with.

So many little fears.

If I stick with it all year and I don’t improve, or do something marvelous, then it will reveal that I’m a mediocre waste of space after all.

What if I suck at what I really love?

What if I’m an empty shell and there really is nothing that lights me up inside?

What if it’s not worth it?

What if I don’t have the creativity I like to think I do?

Little by little in the past months, I’ve been convincing myself to be brave enough to try, despite all of the What Ifs. And when the last frosty days of December rolled in, I let myself give in, said goodbye to two decades of impetuousness and this shiny idea that “the next one will be my thing,” and decided that my theme for 2023 would be “consistent and persistent.”

I didn’t try to rush to have a set of projects and goals sparkling and ready for me come January 1st, but have determined that everything that I start, I will finish. So far, I just started Week Six of a twelve week program that I started early November, and am a few days into a certification course that will likely take me several months to complete, and even longer to see the full fruits of.

And although I wanted to give up on this piece of writing, because the tenses are all over the place, it lacks “oomph,” and is altogether unremarkable, I’ve made myself finish it. Because the era where my doubts waste away in drafts is, quite simply, over.

This era doesn’t feel shiny and attention seeking, or like digging through the couch cushions to find bits and pieces of value, it feels like sitting on the couch and discovering that stability and familiarity are healing and finding value within myself. It doesn’t feel like going from 0-60 mph like most New Year’s Resolutions, it feels like slowing down to enjoy the scenery.

I’m unsure of what this new era will bring, but it feels right, and maybe, *fingers crossed* this will be my year.