A striving, one track mind

Keep going. Don’t be lazy. If you just learn more and try more you can prove that you are worth something. 

These are the words that shined like a neon bar sign in the back of my mind. The words that I had to tell myself in order to stay the course, to keep moving forward. Sure enough, one foot kept stepping in front of the other, until I finally asked myself where I was going. Forward motion is only helpful when it’s taking you where you want to go–otherwise you are scrambling blindly in the dark and when the light finally comes on your left in the middle of nowhere. 

Last August, the light came on for me. Not in a blaze of glory, but in the slow arrival of a sunrise. It crept up over the course of six months until finally revealing an unfamiliar landscape–not ugly, but not mine. Knowing where I currently stood forced me to take a good hard look around and ask myself where I wanted to go–at least in my professional life. 

I woke up in the land of the mouse, Orlando, Florida. I put on my loafers, trudged down to the hotel’s giant conference center, and dove into the job that had become the tunnel for my vision. It wasn’t a moment of stress (although there have been many) or even a moment of celebration (of which there were also many), it was me building up the courage to ask myself whether I was feeding my passion or my pride. 

Life isn’t kind enough to let us ask that question often, there are bills to be paid, responsibilities to handle, people to provide for. For me, that question was the pin holding everything together and once asked, the pin was pulled and reality exploded around me. 

The truth I faced brought a few not-so-flattering things to light. First, that I possess that terrifying arrogance of believing that I can figure it out. Whether or not I’m naturally gifted in something I am whole-heartedly convinced I could learn enough to be dangerous, at least within reason (I am not crazy enough to believe I could casually be an astrophysicist or accountant). Second, I love to hear “Good job.”

Approval from authority is the wind beneath my wings. The professional payoff of every challenge, new task, next skill to hone, was increased trust and high praise. I was constantly seeking confirmation that my imposter syndrome was just that, rather than actual ineptitude. My pride was inextricably linked to my professional ups and downs. Not only did the turbulence of an agency environment take my career for a ride, but my self-worth along with it. 

I had my answer. I was feeding my pride. I wanted to be good at my job, not because I felt capable or particularly gifted in what I was doing, but because it meant that I, Bridget, was good, talented, smart. It all came down to what I could gain, rather than what I could offer. 

Once discovering my motivating force, the next question for me to ask was, “Is that enough?” Is feeding my pride enough to sustain my soul? And then the subsequent question, “Do I genuinely care to be proficient in the skills I’m honing, or am I only developing them as a way to seek that approval I crave?” The answer *drumroll please* was no. I was moving toward a future that fed my pride and pride alone, burying my passion deep within a striving, one track mind.

Enter: that pit in your stomach telling you to do something you’re terrified to do. A nagging whisper daring me to quit my job. 

Quit my job?! Abandon safety and security for what, the hope of a dream that I might have one day? Because that’s what it was. Asking myself hard questions didn’t lead to easy answers. The truth was that pouring my mental energy into a job that drained me left me with nothing else to give. I knew I was creative, I knew I used to love to write and used to have dreams I wanted to pursue, but I couldn’t remember what they actually were. 

And then with ten seconds (six months) of insane courage (We Bought A Zoo, mentioned), I quit my job. 

I abandoned the trajectory I had been on in exchange for a handful of freelance writing clients and a commitment to rediscover who I am, what I love, and ultimately, what I want.

A month and some change later, I felt sunlight peak through the dark clouds I had become so familiar with. I had given myself that time before diving into uncomfortable self-promotion and networking to reset and rest. I was still recovering, regaining my creative strengths, but I had a strand of hope that affirmed the gamble I had taken had good odds.

Two months after my last day, my mom told me, “It feels like we have Bridget back.” 

The people who know and love me watched me lose my grip on myself. They patiently awaited my return. It is because of those people (you know who you are) that I had the courage to bet on me. 

The choice to feed my passion instead of my pride isn’t as romantic as it seems. It’s full of uncertainty, anxiety, and has made me brutally aware of my own deficiencies. But it’s my choice. Now, I get to choose to learn and grow. I have to overcome my social anxiety to get a coffee with some friend of a friend who might one day need a copywriter. I have to budget better. I have to wake up at a reasonable hour of the day because shit has to get done.

But what I get to do? That’s where things get good. 

I get space to pursue dreams that feel impractical and impossible. I get to hone the skills I want to master, develop my writing ability for a variety of different clients. I get to do this–write about trash for the ten of you who will read this till the end. I get to show up for my friends with unhurried care and attention. I have no choice but to let my ambition play second fiddle to what I believe matters in my life. And no, I’m not telling you to throw away your career. I’m inviting you to explore your life with a new perspective. 

What are the fears, beliefs, or comforts that motivate your forward motion? And, are they taking you somewhere you want to go? If not, what could you toss in the trash that would reorient you on a path worth taking? 

I challenge you to ask yourself if you’re feeding your pride or your passion and I want you to have the courage to throw away the things that reduce you to less than what you are. 

So who are you? Who do you want to be? What would need to change for the people who love you to say, “You’re back!”? The rebellion of bravery is contagious, and I think it’s catching.