Category Archives: Adulthood

On searching for a former clarity

I feel like I’ve gotten horribly lost in the Bermuda Triangle that is the transition to stable, adult life. Not the physical me, of course, for that body currently sits on the sunny patio of Jimmy’s Coffee, in Kensington Market, scrawling these notes in a too-small notebook with a too-inky pen. No, it’s the person inside this outer shell that feels hardly recognizable.

I’ve thought this to be the case for some time now, but have been holding out hope for the return of the more familiar, more comfortable, me. With posters on phone poles and photos on milk cartons, I’ve stumbled through day-to-day routines filled with the naive hope that his return was just around the corner. That if I could just catch a break in the aimless and never-ending job search. If I could just paint the right thing. If I could just send that tough route. If I just bought the right pen and sat in the right café and listened to the right tunes, he’d return. With a sudden gust of inspiration, he’d send ink splashing across swiftly turning pages.

If I could just…If I could just.

But I can’t. And instead, the landscape of my life remains a barren wasteland of half-baked ideas and unfinished projects. The corpses of books half read and canvases half-filled lie alongside the ghosts of stories half written and photos never taken. Languishing bodies indistinguishable from the spirits of unrealized potential, all lost amid my internal clutter.

Every once in a while I think I’ve figured it out and in these moments I am Einstein, and a careful mixture of caffeine and exhaustion is my E=mc2. In these moments, it seems as though I’ve found the thing to kick-start this ailing engine inside of me. And I do, momentarily. And I’ll design or write or shoot and I’ll feel as though old-me has returned. With newfound energy and excitement, all aspects of regular life get pushed to the side. My sleeping schedule implodes, I forget to eat, and my once neat and tidy room becomes consumed by a chaos of productivity.

And then…gone. The pen stops moving, the paint starts drying, the pages stop turning, and I’m hurdled back off the wall I’d been climbing, left hanging in an empty space, unsure of which way is up.

In these brief flashes, I let myself think maybe, possibly, old me is here to stay. But with each departure the fall feels farther and farther, and makes the next appearance harder and harder to come by.

And so I don’t know what to do. And I don’t know what to think.

Each day, old-me would wake up with this idea in his head that he was the kind of person who wanted to change the world. To make a difference. But with each passing day, this-me finds it harder and harder to see just how that will ever be the case.

Each day, I wear this ring on my pinky to remind me of a commitment I made to use my skills and time to make the world a better place, and scattered around my room are remnants from my Oxfam days – times when I was knee-deep in social justice; when I was “doing things.” I hold onto all of this as tightly as I’d grip a crimpy hold on the rock-wall, hoping it’ll keep me upright and stop me from falling off. But I don’t know how strong a connection I actually feel to any of them anymore. And like finding the right pen or the right café, I don’t know if they’re actually what I need right now.

In one of my more recent flurries of productivity, I got the idea in my head to re-name, re-brand and re-start the storytelling work I had been doing two years ago. And so I spent the better part of two weeks brainstorming and designing and staring at fonts. And when I was done I sat back and looked at my creation and thought to myself: “I don’t actually know why I did this.”

IM

I had all these ideas for a logo and a name, and a series of meanings to bind them both, but what was missing was any of the actual drive and excitement needed to take a word and an image and make it something more. And so it, like the domain name I own, sits and collects digital dust.

And so I worry that old-me is horribly lost in the Bermuda Triangle that is the transition to stable, adult life.

If you happen to see him as you traverse your own ambiguity, please send him home. The thing inhabiting this-me is not early as fun to be around.

Until next time.

Ambiguously yours,

-t

Advertisements
Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

On Becoming An Adult

April 1st was a bit of a milestone for me, though it likely wasn’t obvious to anyone. I woke up, showered, skipped breakfast and hopped on my bike for the incredibly short ride to work. The elevators don’t become fully operational until 9am, but work starts at 8:30 so I need to exit out the rear elevator doors and swing around to enter the Centre for Social Innovation lounge and greet my team for the day. Outwardly, it will be like every other day I’ve had for the past three months here, but something will be different.

On April 1st, at age 26, I qualify as an adult for the first time.

This of course is based on highly scientific criteria that I created in my mind years ago as to what makes an adult.

  • You own alcohol you do not drink. (Bonus points if you have some sort of hutch where you keep it).
  • You have a dental plan.

I’ve fostered this theory for years, waiting to finally shout my achievement from the rooftops and as I left the unopened bottle of red wine and assortment of random liquor sitting on my counter and headed to work on the fateful Wednesday, I had made it. I started my first consistent full-time job in January and my dental plan kicks in after three months, unknowingly anointing me as a fully- fledged adult. But to be honest, for those of you who haven’t hit this stage in your life yet, it doesn’t feel that different.

Is it handy to have something on hand to offer an unexpected guest upon their arrival? Of course. Is it great to know that if half of my teeth fall out of my mouth I’ll only have to personally cover some of the expenses? Yes, definitely. But despite the years of thought, discussion and refinement that has gone into this anointment, it will pass with little fan fair, for one main reason.

  • It’s bullshit.

As a child, we have all of these perceptions of adulthood and what it consists of. We see these ‘grown-ups’ doing grown-up things and build our perception around the things we see them doing. Adults have fulltime jobs. Adults do their taxes. Adulthood becomes about doing things and therefore we come into our formative years with the belief that once we do these things we’ll feel this magical transition and suddenly it will be upon us.

But then it doesn’t happen and you start hear voices rise up stating that their biggest surprise was that no one knows what they are doing. You begin to see the world as the patchwork of people just like you, and it’s incredibly frightening. You realize that what makes an adult has nothing to do with what the person is doing but rather why they are doing it.

Adulthood is nothing more, and nothing less than reacting to responsibility. I’ve spent the last three years trying to find my way after graduating university, slowly building myself into some semblance of what I thought I saw as a child when I looked up. And I’ve made progress. But the secret that‘s only a secret because it never really soaks in is that even if you have dental, and alcohol you don’t drink, you’re still able to be fucking terrified in the face of something you don’t feel prepared for. Which is a problem, because life is going to keep giving you the responsibility to do these things and the only way to be prepared for something is to do it.

In an adult life you’re scared again and again and slowly, if you’re lucky, you learn to feel this fear, listen to its concerns and carry on. Knowing at the very least, that if life punches you in the teeth, you’re an adult.

Which means you have dental.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , ,

On Numbers

Adulthood was a numbers game to me, that’s how I saw it growing up at least.

I would be an adult when I turned 18.  I would go to post-secondary school for 4 years and get 1 degree.  I would eventually meet someone and be in 1 loving marriage, and with that have somewhere between 2-3 kids and be 1 happy family.  I would have 1 successful career making hopefully 50,000 a year, and if I got good enough at what I did, maybe more!

Clearly I didn’t know anything about adulthood, and numbers were a way to help make it easier to comprehend.

Reflecting on all of that now, my math was WAY off (Reminder: I am an engineer by training, so I take pride in getting the correct numbers).  I put such face value to these numbers, not understanding the depth and meaning behind them, and how it would ultimately translate into reality and life.  And it is probably because of that simplistic and naïve view of adulthood that made it such a weird, confusing, muddled, stressful, and ridiculous time in my life so far.

In the short stint into adulthood so far, there were so many numbers that I didn’t expect, that completely blindsided me.  Instead of the 1 degree I anticipated, I ended up pursuing 2, and one of which was at a higher level than I anticipated.  That meant 7.5 years in school, 2.5 of which was an unfamiliar blank space that haunted me at the same time as the blank space of young adulthood, feeling like I was falling behind in life.  What about the nearly 3 years of depression I struggled through, and the approximately 20 one-hour sessions of counselling to try and figure out ways to manage it?  Nearly a handful of ruined friendships because I was in such a dark place and did not know how to properly confront those problems. 0, count that, Z-E-R-O, “proper” relationships, as it were.

However, not all the numbers were negative.  I completed 1 thesis (totaling over 160 pages of written analysis) in those extra 2.5 years, and I’m in the process of writing a scientific journal publication to accompany the hard work I put into that masters, and I’m proud of those achievements, especially when it was such a difficult time in my life.  I volunteered with a great organization for 3 years, getting more involved with each subsequent year, on 3 difficult and personally important projects, working with countless amazing individuals that brought me inspiring friends across all 10 Canadian provinces. I was fortunate enough to find 1 great starting job so far that keeps me on my toes and constantly challenges me, in the midst of struggling whether or not I should stay in the field of engineering or attempt other passions, or whether to stay in the City I was born or move to a city that is new and full of wonders.  At this job, I’ve met great coworkers and friends, and have been fortunate enough to have a good handful of mentors to help me grow personally and professionally.  I’ve attended 3 great weddings of friends already, and 1 of whom I had the honour and privilege of being a part of as a groomsman, with many more to come.

But these are the things that I have been able to understand through numbers with adulthood so far.  And it really is such a minute piece of the puzzle of it all.  How can I even come close to quantifying and giving numbers to experiences?  I can’t put a number to travelling to across the Pacific Ocean with my dad after high school and meeting my extended family for the first time.  No numbers can describe being taught by friends how to ride a bike or camping for the first time or learning how to ski because you never had those opportunities as a kid. Numbers aren’t the things you remember from roadtripping with friends across the Western US, the late night discussions about the world and its complex issues, and the skype calls or google hangouts just to see faces you’ve missed from across time zones.

I am coming up on 9 years of being an “adult”, and simultaneously sharing that anniversary along with 9 pieces of random rant-filled thoughts to this appreciated space I’ve stumbled upon, alongside wonderful friends exploring the same ambiguous time of young adulthood.  This piece, my tenth, reminds me that adulthood is so complex, so abstract, and so unpredictable, that mere numbers could never help me comprehend what it means to be an adult.  Adulthood is not a zero-sum game, nor an accountant’s balance sheet, nor a set of mathematical equations. Adulthood is messy, full of questions with not enough answers, and ultimately unexpected experiences.  Adulthood has meant that with each passing year, I gain control of my environment and choices a little more, I get better at pretending like I know what I am doing; I embrace ambiguity just a little more.

– Jeff

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

On two years

If two years ago you had asked me, “What will you be doing two years from now?” I would have told you, “That’s the dumbest question I’ve ever heard.”

Between the barren job landscape and my terrified, just-graduated self, I would’ve had an easier time telling you the 2041 Oscar winner for Best Picture (my money is on a biopic about the guy who invented the Cinnabon).

If two years ago you had, instead, told me that two years from now I’d still be operating Embracing Ambiguity…I probably wouldn’t have believed you. And not because I don’t think that the blog is worthwhile, or founded on a solid idea, but because, well…who doesn’t have a blog?! Prior to starting #EmbAmb, I myself had started two different blogs, which, cumulatively, lasted for three weeks.

So, I didn’t expect much. But the idea caught hold and some others jumped on board, and the little blog that might just kept on coulding. And here we are, 2 years, 11 authors, 68 posts, 98 followers, 1 Facebook page and a whole lot of uncertainty later.

It has been a pretty wild ride, and I’ve been honoured to share this outlet with a number of good friends, and to have it read and followed by a whole host of others.

I think that the blog’s success owes to the fact that we’re all just little fish, floating along in the large and often terrifying sea of young adulthood. Whether you’re a writer, a vocal supporter or a casual lurker of the content that has filled these digital pages over the last 730 days, I think the one thing that everyone walks away with is a shared sense of “huh…so I’m not alone in all this.” And I think that’s key.

I have valued this outlet and this experience more than words can describe, and so I won’t bother trying. Instead, I’ll let the blog keep doing its thing, and keep on coulding. Hopefully it will for years to come. #sixseasonsandamovie

To celebrate our two year anniversary, the EmbAmb writers have decided to write a series of posts about the idea of adulthood, and what it means to them.

This is something I have addressed a fair bit recently. In thinking about the idea for this specific series, I’ve had some additional thoughts that I have chronicled below.

For two-years-ago me – freshly graduated and trying desperately to figure out just what it was I was doing with this thing we call life – adulthood was the panacea to all life’s problems. It was the thing at the end of the terrifying rainbow of young adulthood. It was the thing I was chasing. I was Indiana Jones and it was my Ark of the Covenant. It was…well, you get it.

I didn’t know what I was doing or where I was going or how I’d know when I had gotten there, but I could take comfort in knowing that somewhere out there, was adulthood. And I’d eventually have it. And it would be great.

I couldn’t really define it, I just knew it would come when the pictures on my walls acquired frames, when I had a permanent alcohol collection, and dental. And when I could drop $14 on a cocktail without thinking. You know, all the classic signs that you’ve made it.

In a lot of ways, adulthood was like this blog– a coping mechanism. It was a promise of certainty that I could look to, in a world that seemed to offer anything but.

Over the last two years I’ve realized that adulthood doesn’t exist. At least, not in any tangible, quantifiable sense. Because I may not have a liquor collection, or dental, but yesterday I filed my taxes and made a fancy ass breakfast that was not Sugar Crisp and I’d defy you to try and tell me I’m not an adult just because I also spent a couple hours curled up in a ball of anxiety, and ate a bowl of popcorn for lunch.

And I still don’t know what I’m doing or where I’m going or how I’ll know when I’ve gotten there, but it also doesn’t matter. That’s not to say that I don’t have days with stress or anxiety over money or work or whatever – I do – but I don’t think that I have nearly the same anxiety ridden preoccupation with checking off a bunch of theoretical boxes on the “ARE YOU AN ADULT” checklist.

What I’m saying is, if the concept of adulthood is a coping mechanism, then like all coping mechanisms, you lean on it when you need it, and forget about it when you don’t.

Two years ago I was in a world where my every move was more or less planned out for me, where my worth was determined by my ability to regurgitate information on command, and where the mysterious force known as OSAP made sure I didn’t have to worry about how I’d make rent or fill the fridge while trying to stay afloat of essays and readings. After a sudden and violent transition, I found myself in a world where I faced $40,000 in debt, where my next step was wholly and completely up to me, and where no one no longer gave a flying fuck about why Napoleon’s invasion of Russia didn’t succeed.

I was a tiny fish floating in a large and terrifying ocean and so grabbed hold of the one thing that I thought would carry me to safety – this idea that one day, it would all be ok. One day, I’d be an adult.

Two years later, the ocean is still large and terrifying, but I’m no longer a tiny fish. I’m a badass mother fuckin’ octopus, and I can hold my own. So screw adulthood. $14 cocktails are for suckers, anyway.

Until next time.

Ambiguously yours,

-t

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,