I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING! And Other Signs of Growing Up

In my life, I have thought about many different career paths for myself.

To name a few:
Psychologist
Pediatrician
Cardiologist
Actress
FBI Agent
Professor
Author
Career Advisor
Academic Advisor
Market Research Analyst
Teacher
Screenwriter
Producer
Chemist
Nutritionist
Broadcast Journalist
Figure Skater
Dramaturg
Scholar
Film/TV Critic

Alas, none quite as alluring as Ben & Jerry’s Quality Assurance Testing, but I digress.

It’s been a long time since I have had the same job for over one year—actually, I don’t think I’ve ever had the same job for over one year, whether it be moving around internally or moving on in general. I never thought this was intentional, but now that I’ve passed the one-year mark at my current job, I feel the anxiety stirring. For the first time in…well, ever, I think, I have no idea what the next professional chapter is.

I am terrified.

And I have no need to be. There is no good reason for me feel this way. I have a good job with ample vacation time that pays the bills. Everyone should be so lucky.

I try (and often fail) to practice what I preach. I am a fierce disparager of the American Dream. As many plays and indie movies tell us, the American Dream is a recipe for dissatisfaction. I think it’s weird that we ask kids what they want to be when they grow up, and that culturally we expect the answer to be an exact profession. And in a way, we almost expect them to commit to it.

One of the best things I learned as a theatre major is how to think in terms of verbs (in this sense it is used for scene and character study, but it really applies to life). If we asked seventeen-year-olds to answer, “What do you want to do?” in verbs, I wonder how different it would be. Would they want to…inspire? Help people? Solve problems? Build things? Maybe we should force kids to think this way, rather than asking them to check off a box called “Major.”

I chose to be a theatre major. Why? Well, at the time, I liked being in the drama club. I liked seeing shows. I liked engaging with stories. The thing is, I didn’t have the makings of an actress. By the time college ended, I hated being the center of attention. I couldn’t imagine myself in a red-carpet situation or in an interview or being the “face” of anything without being a disaster. I thrive with a routine, and the auditioning lifestyle didn’t allow for that. It turns out what I really liked about theatre was that it was mission-driven, that it required precise deadlines and complex project management, and that both the process and the end result engaged groups of people with something I am extremely passionate about: stories.

Even still, as I enter twenty-nine years of age, while I do have a better idea of my life verbs, my personal values, and what I think I want, I STILL HAVE NO FREAKING IDEA HOW TO APPLY THAT TO A CAREER.

While keeping me up at night, this has helped me learn a lot of things about myself. Such as, as suggested earlier, it is hard for me to be content where I am. I have spent many years mocking the American Dream and yet it is still implanted in me. I am a walking contradiction.

And it’s weird, because I tell myself this is okay. And then I think, maybe I just need someone else to tell me it’s okay. Nearly everyone I know doesn’t fully know what they want to do. Even those who are pursuing what they once definitely thought they wanted to do have doubts—I listened to a podcast recently and the guest was a screenwriter I admire and even she, who went to Harvard as has been writing for shows like Parks and Rec and The Good Place ever since, mentioned that she doesn’t always feel right or satisfied with her career. That blew my mind. Isn’t this enough evidence to prove it’s all BS? That fulfillment is in looking around you, at all the great people you know, the relationships you have, the books you read, the things you learn, and the things you love, and not in the bosses you please, the constant reassurance you crave, the deadlines you meet, and the emails you send? Shouldn’t this be enough? Further, shouldn’t I be grateful that I am even afforded the privilege to dream? Many aren’t given so many options. And if we find contentment in our careers, won’t anxious cynics like me just find something else to dwell on for the rest of our precious, ephemeral lives?

Plus, I am sure there is a crucial part of me that has an idea of what I want to do but is much too afraid to try. It is very easy to focus on potential failure, especially when you’ve convinced yourself you will fail from the get-go. And isn’t avoiding failure a form of failing? I have become what I have feared by simply never trying.

There is also the fact that I’ve been in this position 104 times. Each time I thought about a job I might like as a kid, as a teenager checking off her “Major” box, a young adult, and someone who is holding on to the last moments of her twenties, trying not to feel like they were wasted. And each time I think on it a lot. I make a thousand different decisions. Maybe I commit to one of them. Then I obsess over what that means. Nothing in life is permanent; it’s never too late. I know these things.

And yet, I am still afraid.

Anyone else out there really feeling this pain lately? I’d love to hear from you, if only for the solidarity.