After a summer with my parents working at a greenhouse and trying to read the classics, I jumped on the wagon of my best friend from college and moved to Denver. There I decided that graduate school was the best option for me.
A brief and miserable stint in a Master’s program in French in Buffalo showed me that graduate school wasn’t the easy option for carving out my path. When I left Buffalo, I determined to make my own course of study. I returned to Denver, and for the next ten years my francophilic tendencies were placed on the shelf.
I worked at Wild Oats, learning more about unpronounceable grains such as quinoa. I studied alternative healing modalities and all that new (old) age stuff such as herbalism and aromatherapy.
I got a my dream job at Capitol Hill Books, a quirky used bookstore across the street from the capitol in Denver. I consider this my graduate school, with degrees in humanity and philosophy of life. There I read volumes of books on whatever subject interested me: intuition, tarot, travel, France, Sylvia Beach and the expat community in France of the 20s and 30s. I learned about humanity from the books I read and the variety of kooky bookworms I met at the store.
Somewhere along the way I gave up trying to live a life that would produce a good resume. I gave myself permission to explore during my twenties. I decided that once I turned thirty, I would embark on a career and make something of myself. This permission allowed me to enjoy life more, to feel okay not knowing my purpose, and to let my innate curiosity lead me forward.
There was subtle pressure from my parents about my life. By subtle I mean that I felt I was an athlete they’d invested in (they funded my college career) and they were watching to see what kind of game I would play. They didn’t tell me what to do or set up interviews or blind dates or anything overt. My mom pestered me about having children. I’ve known since childhood that I didn’t want to spawn any kids myself, so I politely asked her to stop bugging me about it. Six months later, when she resumed talking to me again, the subject of children was never raised again.
It isn’t easy to live outside the box. I often envied people who followed the given models for living: settle into the groove of a job, get married, buy a house, have children. But it was obvious that this was not my path. It dawned on me one night in my tiny Denver apartment that I was going to have to carve out my own niche. Once I accepted that I was the designer of my life, rather than whine about not knowing my direction, life became easier.
I have also felt like this, Cynthia:
"It isn’t easy to live outside the box. I often envied people who followed the given models for living: settle into the groove of a job, get married, buy a house, have children."
I feel this way when I get tired, feeling I HAVE TO re-invent my life each day. Like you, when I realize that I GET TO invent my life, it's a lot easier and more fun. A subtle but very important mind shift.
Posted by: Leslie | April 26, 2009 at 02:01 AM