I Have A Confession

I have a confession: I feel like the biggest loser ever. And not like the show, The Biggest Loser where you win for losing the most weight after getting your ass beat by Jillian Michaels. Nope. Not like that. I genuinely feel like my life is the biggest joke ever, like, whatever God or cosmic entity is out there is just sitting back, laughing hard every time my life crumbles to pieces after believing I had it figured out. Hilarious. At some point, things are supposed to start falling into place, right? All the screw ups and disastrous situations end up making sense, right?

It’s been two years since I graduated college and I still regret dedicating four years to studying something I don’t have any interest in now. And maybe you’re thinking that having a college education, no matter what field, will help you find a job you want… eventually. So, how much more searching do I have to do? How many more jobs should I apply to with plucky attitude, believing that this’ll be the one that changes my life? Every unread application and every un-returned phone call just remind me that I’m not good enough. And it reminds me that I’m not the only one who thinks that.

Which is fine, I guess, because if I’m being honest, I don’t want any of those jobs. I just want to escape the misery of my current one but, moving from one miserable job to another that has absolutely nothing to do with what I want to do makes no sense.

Hmph. “What I want to do”. I feel like an even bigger loser when I say that. It implies that I have an idea of what I want my future to look like. There are so many jobs I look at and don’t apply to because I can’t see myself working there or it’s just not what I want to do. But I don’t know what I want to do. I mean, come on, I’m 24 and I don’t even have that much figured out by now? SERIOUSLY? And then I have the audacity to be picky about where I work when there are so many people who would appreciate my job better than I can. I hate wanting something better for myself.

I suppose it’s not completely true to claim that I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I’ve always wanted to help people although that’s never really been clearly defined in my mind. Should I be a therapist, or should I dedicate my life to a non-profit? Beyond wanting to help people, I’ve always wanted to do something that allowed me to be creative too. Writing has always been my creative outlet and once I realized I could use writing to connect to people, to show them that there’s someone in their corner, rooting for them, I knew I had to go for it. And maybe it’s because I have massive social anxiety that makes it hard for me to find the right words in person and I’d rather never speak again if I didn’t have to but, written words are so much easier for me.

The world tells creative spirits that art isn’t a good enough career, that being creative isn’t a good enough contribution. Then I feel incredibly lame for believing a story of mine could help someone, for believing I could have purpose.

It’s crazy that I can convince myself of something so delusional. To believe that I’m purposeless is the same as forgetting about the few people who have been helped by my writing; it’s the same as throwing away all the growth I’ve accomplished. I may not be a published author yet, and writing might not be my life’s calling but giving up because it’s easier to meet other’s expectations rather than my own isn’t going to happen. It’s hard to feel successful when you know you’re so far from where you want to be but, perseverance is what connected me to my first reader and perseverance will lead me to where I’m meant to be.

I have a confession: I am the world’s biggest loser who has absolutely no idea what I’m doing, but at least I’m staying true to me.