Lie No. 7 | 09.30.18

I’m so tired + afraid of what I might say I almost sat this week out. Pretty sure there’s no audience I’d disappoint in doing so, except myself. So onward, w/the safest topic possible.
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I quit my job 10.5 months ago. I went to therapy the Tues before I quit that Thurs. I vividly remember my therapist asking about work; I stuck to the script as usual: it’s hard but it’s supposed to be, right? I love a challenge; an opportunity in disguise! I didn’t tell him I’d lost all confidence in myself. Or what I’d fought like hell for wasn’t working out. Or how draining it was to come up w/new ways to defend my value day after day, ultimately questioning it myself. Nevertheless, he said something I’ll never forget: “Years ago you told me your job didn’t love you back [ed note: circa ‘07-09, at a newspaper during furloughs, freezes + layoffs]. Your fatal flaw is you fight like hell for institutions + expectations that can’t love you back, instead of people who can, yourself included.”🤯
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Imagine his surprise when he called 3 months later + I told him I’d quit my job to relaunch my consulting biz. He asked how it was going, as I heard him flip thru notes, looking for missed signs. I told him—truthfully—it was great. Yet when he asked where I was right then, I told him I’d just left a meeting. It sounded more legit than being at The Container Store—a compartmentalizer’s paradise—for the 4th time that week. I didn’t want him to worry. I wasn’t busy anymore + it felt like a disorder he’d be ethically obligated to diagnose. I was healthier, happier, doing better financially + more professionally satisfied than I’d been in years. Yet I was ashamed I wasn’t busy; still am. It’s confusing to not be something it seems everyone else is. Mostly it’s terrifying having time to wander the unknown alleys in my head. The Container Store’s aisles are safer.
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Fast forward to Florence. I felt so helpless, then remembered I have the flexibility, time + resources to help! The bug bites, blisters + imminent deet poisoning will fade. The lessons I’m learning down here—some new, some remembered—about myself won’t. Your move, Container Store.