Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway
Originally, this blog was intended to chronicle a career change. I now think it served a much greater purpose.
In my early/mid twenties, I seemed to value what society valued: a hefty paycheck, an impressive job title, an enviable rolodex of "powerful people", a fancy car, a chic apartment, an athletic physique, etc. I valued this identity for the message it transmitted to the outside world: "Hey everyone, I have my shit together." That was nice. But then something happened. A quiet voice inside of me had been whispering, "yo dude, you don't truly value any of these things." And what began as a harmless whisper grew into an incessant blare, leaking a corrosive inauthenticity into my thoughts, decisions, and actions. Only my feelings, as harrowing as they had become, seemed to harbor the final remnants of truth. I was not happy.
I left the corporate world in hopes of alleviating this strange anxiety. Answers were few. Where was this anxiety coming from? What was it exactly that I could no longer tolerate? How do I make sense of these feelings? Why can't anyone understand me or guide me? What do I do now? Needless to say, I found myself aimless, wandering on a lonely stretch of life's highway. And the more I tried to resist the looming threat of change, to ignore my unpleasant feelings and carry on with "life as usual," the more inauthentic and lifeless my existence became. Resistance was indeed futile. And the walls caved in.
I pushed the limits of my renunciation. It had to be complete. Not only did I leave my job, but I left the world I had constructed. I canceled my MBA applications, my only blueprint for the future. I terminated the apartment contract and boxed my material possessions. I left the state and, shortly after, the country. Only through deconstruction of the old can resources be freed and reconfigured for the new. Unknowingly, what I was struggling to deconstruct was my identity. It was terrifying and liberating.
Parts of the ensuing journey were recorded in this blog.
But the purpose of this blog was much greater. I now see that these digitized pages served as a "holding ground" for that deconstruction. I am grateful to my best friend for suggesting I write out my experiences. I am grateful to others for encouraging me to continue. It has granted me the ability to reflect on my evolving identity. The process was somehow made clearer and more psychologically tangible through the writing. Like a museum exhibition with ample lighting, where the detached pieces of identity are put on display, allowing for a more intimate inspection. I could then see what had once been hidden - and I think this gave me courage to accept and press on with the change.
I've stopped regularly updating this blog for reasons unknown to me. The current standstill was unplanned and contrary to my expectations. I wanted to write 1 post per week, but I'm up to only 5 posts for the year. It feels as if the fiery urge to describe my tumultuous internal experience has been replaced by a faint but steady afterglow. I wonder if this attenuation in desire and urgency signals the end of a particular transformative cycle. I think it does.
My thesis is now underway. The topic is adult psychological development - surprise surprise. I'm exploring what these transformations mean and whether they're good for us. Research shows that we all experience several transformations throughout our lives. More interestingly, these transformations seem to occur in a specific order. Resisting or suppressing them seems to leave us deeply unhappy and unfulfilled. Seeking them out and accepting them, however, may lead to the opposite. I believe that Socrates referred to this process as "the perfection of the soul."
In conclusion, I wonder if the action of being human is richer than we can - at first - suppose.
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