Just; or, You Do It To Yourself

I turn 35 years old in 15 days. I’ve worked incredibly hard since I was at least 16 years old, never going more than a month or so without a job (or full-time school, or both); in all this time, I rarely took more than a long weekend for a “break”. Vacations were something that only middle-class families and up that had “made it” could afford and I was always reaching for that ever-moving goal that only middle-class comfort could provide. In the 35 years I’ve had on this planet, I’ve had my share of heartbreak, joy, misery, rapture, sadness, and bliss. One thing I have always found hard to find (harder than a reason to take a break) is contentment. Once a goal is achieved, I’m immediately gearing up for the next challenge, readying myself to push for the next figurative touchdown. I’ve always took my ambitious nature and applied it to all the jobs I’ve had and “careers” I’ve started; it’s been a prominent figure in the halls of my successes over the years. But stress, and the introspection that comes with it, dictates that perhaps my measurements of success were, in fact, not successes at all. And, let me tell you, this has been a very hard pill to swallow.

I’ve always been an over-achiever with the goal of top grade in class or the person who sets the curve. You know this person; everyone knows this person. You may also identify as this singularly focused individual who languished over every mistake and swathed yourself in the groans of senior classmates who poured hatred in your direction at every exam. Let me ask you this (this is for anyone, by the way): Why do they do it? Why did you do it? Why did you have to be the top grade? Why did it matter so much that you were the best on a test in a series of endless exams which don’t speak to your character, your talents, or your actual skills?

Who were they to you? Because for me, this question is the backbone of the answer. Who made you feel like their acceptance and pride, nay their very love was at stake every time you put pen to paper? Who’s judgement in childhood has crippled you in your adult life? For me, it was my late beloved father. My Dad had this look he would give when he “knows you’re better than this” that would make my skin crawl and my guts drag in defeat. My entire childhood was him gearing me up for a lifetime of wasting time to meet up to mysterious standards that would make him proud of me. Unfortunately, he never seemed to take any of my “reports” to him from college very seriously and, since I got the impression that he was disappointed, I would immediately lose faith in whatever I thought I was capable of. In comes the predictable 72 different majors/minors over the course of 8 years until I just stuck with what I had the most credits in and what I got the best grades in. Two degrees later and the date of my graduation came along. I worked hard to get to the finish line my father had set for me and he was proud of me.

But…I wasn’t feeling very proud of myself.

Actually, I crossed that stage filled with so much dread and defeat (oh, and a MONSTER bladder infection from chronic dehydration) that I sobbed at the nice dinner my Dad took me to to congratulate me. Because in the years I struggled to find my way and my voice in college, I had amassed tons of student loan debt and a directionless future. I knew what the goal was when I was in college; but, without grades and degrees as guideposts, what would I do to “make him proud” now? The only clue in the “You Go To College, Get A Good Job, And Make Lots Of Money” parable is that the indicator for a good job was the volume of money you made from it. Happiness, fulfillment, a sense of pride in one’s work is not important; those are fringe benefits for those people who pick really good jobs or are talented or lucky or have an “in”. Which told me everything I needed to know about myself, from my father’s perspective. I didn’t know anybody, I had two useless Bachelor’s degrees, and I had no luck. Clearly, if I had any talent, it would have been recognized at this point.

The funny thing is, my favorite moments growing up were when I would be displaying any modicum of talent (art/drawing/writing, etc.) that wasn’t related to my schooling. One time, I was listening to music and creating some art when my Dad came in because…reasons (I was probably ‘being too quiet’). He asked to see what I was doing and I showed him. He legitimately stopped for a few minutes and looked over every drawing I had made while I briefly explained the inspiration and the direction I was planning on taking. After I finished, he nodded in the magical way he did when he approved of something and he said, “Not bad! Are these for something? Good job!” I remember just sitting there for at least five minutes going back through the drawings and hyper-scrutinizing them, trying to figure out what magic I had conjured to gain his support to something that didn’t matter.

You can imagine what kind of pressure this puts on a person who wants to write. I clearly had to make something intensely amazing to get praise. I would have these random little successes that were masked under the guise of grades with no real merit aside from the letter on the semester report. I was technically published twice for poetry in middle school; once for a poetry.com entry (does that even count though?) and once when I wrote a poem for a friend to help her with an assignment so we could play. I messed up and the poem was too good and my friend got a bunch of recognition for it, which made her really mad because her mom knew IMMEDIATELY that it was me.

Let me sidebar here about my friend’s mom: she was the mother I wished I would have had while I was growing up. My Mom left when I was 6 and I barely saw her much until 10, when I officially cut ties myself. My friend’s mom was a very tough and strict (albeit, fair) maternal guidepost for most of my childhood into adolescence and she actually saw me for the little creative person I have always been. We would read books and discuss them together and, in many ways, I think we adopted each other in those days to fill the voids we needed. She wanted a daughter with similar passions and I needed a mother who would believe in me.

In a letter of recommendation she wrote for me for a senior project, she states, “For she is a young lady whose life decisions will not be based on the path of least resistance. Her path will be one in which the path will teach a life lesson and help her to grow both spiritually and mentally.” I think she knew then what has taken me 17 years to learn now, that following the lead someone else takes you on in life fulfills their desires and not one’s own. You will stagnate trying to realize another person’s vision for your life and you have to find your own way. Ultimately, you have to decide what success means for yourself and create your own guideposts along the way. Holding yourself to someone else’s standards is choosing to hang yourself by another’s noose. So long as you live under the fear of someone else’s disappointment, you will never be creatively free. It’s time to make myself proud in my own way and measure success with my own yardstick, not based on what I think my father WOULD have said. He’s dead now, so the only person holding me to his standards now…is me.

-V. Raylean