I'm 35 & I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE F*CK TO DO

I’m 35 and I don’t know what the fuck to do I thought I had this life sewn up and figured out, but to my surprise I rolled over at 9 in the morning a week before the new year 2018 with my eyes barely open to a phone call that asked, “Hey are you still interested in the behavioral specialist position in Athens, Ga?” Awesome call you may say. This is the call you think I may have been waiting for, right? I mean wouldn’t you be waiting for a job offer like this after so much education, after so many long nights and sacrificing desires to make sure 1500-word papers are turned in consecutively each week, after humiliating internships that offered you no promise and no job when they were done, after your kids had to suffer not getting the things that they wanted or the time that they needed with mommy, or after thousands of dollars of debt has accumulated and you are reminded each month that you just may need another deferment. However, to me this call had several things wrong with it. First of all, the fact that I had these thoughts running through my head allowed me to know that something was terribly off with me. Something that a 35-year-old woman shouldn’t battle with after so much sacrifice and money spent…I thought to myself, “This could be a financial blessing to my family and I.” “This could be my dream job.” I mean it should be since most people with a Master’s Degree in counseling should pursue a job as such, but these are the issues, my issues: I no longer have a desire to work in Athens (I only wanted to move there because of a love interest once upon a time), at this time I am not pursuing a job in my degree because I’m more interested in my artistry and writing, and I have absolutely no time to work a full time…Wait a minute. I asked, “Is this job full time?” She responded, “Yes.” Back to what I was saying, I have absolutely no time to work a full-time job out of town as a single parent.

Then there it was, I was forced to face my reality. I have done a lot of shit in my life with not a lot of purpose, and I only did all of this shit cause it just looked right or felt right at the time. Also, I did it because going to school getting a regular degree was so much safer than pursuing a singer songwriter/poetry/lyricist/writer career. Yes, I said it, I can do all those things and more. That’s where the problem rested with me, I can do too many things, and I’m smart enough to get by. Now, some would say, “Isn’t that a great thing!” Hell to the muthafuckin’ yea, that’s an awesome thing. Yet, what’s good about knowing how to do all those things, and none of them are yielding income or an innate satisfaction that makes you feel relieved when you strike another accomplishment with them. Writing, completing tasks, or finishing school has never been issues with me. I can ace school agendas all day, I can write just about anything I’m given, and when I am faced with a task I have the razor-sharp energy focus of a hungry tiger fixated on its prey. At the end of the day though, what’s the use of doing all of this if all you say is, ”Whew, I got it done.” Then you get a few Facebook likes after the announcement, a few congratulation calls, maybe a party, a call from a past friend that “thinks” you’re doing it big, and a few more mediocre connections. Hope I didn’t offend anyone with that last point. If I did, well tough, that’s how it feels. To me it feels like, another accomplishment to add on to something I can do, but never something I would dare to continue, never something that I feel means anything, and never something my heart can continue to resonate with. People kind of don’t understand me when I don’t flip over and jump for joy when I make things happen, and it’s only because I am confident in being able to simply make things happen. I’m just not sure that making these things happen is the jackpot to purpose for me and that wonderful feeling that this is what I want to do for the rest of my life, this is what I want to wake up to, and this is truly who I am. I finally just faced my reality and told the lady on the phone, “I’m not interested.” In an almost offensive tone she responded, “Well, please pull your resume off that particular account.” To her surprise, I did that the week before, but I gave her a friendly “ok” because I was finally “ok” with my reality. The reality of I’m 35 and I don’t know what the f*ck to do.