Growing the F--- Up: What I've learned in my late 20s

Adults can still build blanket forts. Right?

When I was 14 and on a rafting trip in Nepal with my family, I did a survey of our fellow travelers that included the question, "Do you feel like an adult?"

All of the 20 and 30 somethings that I surveyed put, "No." [This was an actual survey. I wrote down the questions and asked each person to write down their answers.]

On that theme, I've been contemplating writing this blog post for a while now. And really, I have only one thesis or overarching idea here: 

Your late 20s is when the things that you've avoided dealing with start dealing with you:

This could be anything--a fear of public speaking, a problem with authority, that parking ticket from four years ago that you forgot to pay (oops), your $2 store shopping addiction, your overwhelming hatred for your job, the crap you haven't forgiven your parents for, your beef with God, your lack of a life outside of work, your dread of parallel parking, your out-of-control credit card debt, compounding interest on your student loans, the deteriorating state of your dental health, your aversion to brussels sprouts, your lousy choice in romantic partners, your friends all moving away, and I could go on.

In other words, if there is some area of your life that you have neglected to grow up in, that area of your life is going to make itself felt in a major, probably uncomfortable and possibly painful way (it will bite you in the butt).

If you don't start owning it, it will start owning you. If you don't take care of it, it will take you out. If you don't kick it in the ass, you'll end up on your ass. It's all the same advice, actually.

Why is this? I think in the first half of your 20s, it can be easy to coast on things like good health, natural talents and abilities, friendships you made in college, a solid education, an overweening confidence in your own potential, blatant naiveté, and youthful optimism (obviously, these are not true for everyone).

But unless life is a consistent downhill slope, it's impossible to simply coast forever. Eventually, you will reach a hill. I hate hills.

Like Aristotle said, "We are what we repeatedly do." If what we repeatedly do is eat cheetos for breakfast and complain about a dead end job at the crayon factory, it doesn't matter how talented or healthy or privileged we are. The results won't be pretty.

In your late 20s, things can start to fall apart (or feel like they're falling apart). Things like your body. Or your relationships. Or your career goals and aspirations.

So let's talk about the roles of pain, fear, and grief in this process.

The Role of Pain

Pain is a sign that something is wrong. Where in your life are you feeling pain? Is it in your body? About your body? In your relationship with your parents? In your identity as a man or woman? In your frustrations about your job?

I think it's helpful here (borrowing from Dr. Henry Cloud) to distinguish between the pain of growth and pain that is just simply bad--the kind that screams at you: "GET OUT NOW." Pain can also helpfully point to underdeveloped or neglected parts of our lives.

For example, if you're feeling the pain of loneliness, this could point to a need to develop new friendships or nurture the ones you already have. Now is your chance to pay attention to what the pain in your life is telling you--whether it's, "Hey, maybe you should lay off the spicy Thai food" or "I would like to make new friends" or "It's time to leave this job. It's not going to get better."

For me, years of blithely confident good health gave way to panic when I started experiencing pain, discomfort, and, worst of all, tingling in my upper back and neck. I could barely stand to sit for the 8 hours a day required at my desk job. But although the symptoms (such as pain) were only then showing up, my guess is the underlying issue probably started a long, long time ago.

But it wasn't until pain showed up that I started paying attention.

[Note: Take care of your body. It is the only one you have.]

The Role of Fear

This is about more than just Instagram-fueled FOMO (fear of missing out). There's the fear of missing out on the important things we're meant to do in our lives, whatever they may be.

The fear of never writing that novel or screenplay. Of never making that film. Of never taking that risk to start our own business or apply for that dream job.

Recently, "adventure" has been a theme in my life, and I realized that adventure always involves risk of some kind. And where there is risk, there can be fear. However, the best kind of fear is not the crippling fear of making a mistake that keeps you from ever venturing out on that ledge. It's the kind of fear that pushes you to venture out in the first place.

Am I more afraid of screwing up or am I more afraid of never getting to do what it is I want to do? One kind of fear confines you to a tiny box in which you can almost guarantee you will never make a mistake. The other kind sends you out into the unknown where, yeah, I guess something terrible could happen, but also something wonderful.

Being confined to a tiny box of perfectionism is terrible.

The Role of Grief

When I started going to therapy a few years ago, I was unprepared for the intense waves of pain and grief that tore through me. I had so much unresolved pain over my parents' divorce (that happened when I was 13) and from feeling abandoned, unloved, and unwanted by both parents.

This is the kind of stuff that will make an appearance sooner or later if you leave it unattended. Unattended baggage is a dangerous thing. Given the right conditions, unresolved feelings won't just be a whisper in your subconscious ("You're not good enough," "You're a failure" ), rather they will start screaming for attention at the top of their lungs, forcing you to either pay attention or drown them out with busyness, distraction, addiction, etc.

Dealing with unresolved grief is pretty much the opposite of fun. But the consequences of not dealing with it can be even worse.

Now that we've discussed the roles of pain, fear, and grief, I've written some questions (I like questions) about different areas in life that you may or may not have grown up in. This is not meant to shame anyone or provide some arbitrary benchmark, but instead to say, "Hey, maybe you can work on this now before it gets too gnarly."

Mentally
Do you have your own personal definition of what it means to be mentally healthy? What does unhealthy look like?
Are you challenging yourself to grow intellectually?
Do you read books / watch movies / listen to podcasts that engage you intellectually or are you numbed out most of the time on junk?

Physically
How do you take care of your body and your health?
Do you eat your vegetables?
How much sleep are you getting?
Are you comfortable with your sexuality?
Do you recognize the physical boundaries between you and others and are you able to recognize when your boundaries have been violated or when you are violating the boundaries of others?

Emotionally
How do you deal with difficult emotions like fear, anger, jealousy, envy, shame?
How do you deal with pain, disappointment, and loss?
Do you know how to grieve?
Is there room in your life for joy and gratitude?

Spiritually
Are you angry with God? Are you angry with God and avoiding the issue?
If you go to church, why? If you don't, why?
How do you connect with God?
How do you connect with others in a spiritual community?
What does unconditional love feel like?

Relationally
Do you cultivate and nurture your friendships?
How do you deal with loneliness?
Do you feel comfortable asking for help?
How's your support system?
Are you an adult or a child in your relationship with your father? Mother? Siblings? Significant other?

Financially
Do you pay your own bills?
Are you spending less than you make?
How's debt treating you?
Are you saving for retirement? (ugh)
Do you give to people, causes, organizations, stories that you care about?

Vocationally
If you hate your job, are you doing something about it?
If you're not making enough money, are you doing something about it? (like asking for a raise)
What are you good at?
Are you pursuing your dreams or someone else's?
How do you deal with failure, mistakes, setbacks?
If you have a day job, are you honoring it by showing up on time, working when you're at work, etc.?
Do you have career goals? Do you have a realistic timeline for those goals?
What do you want to be when you grow up?

Career Myths, or Do What You Like

I recently ran across an essay by Paul Graham entitled How to Do What You Love. It's a good essay; I would recommend it.

Anyway, it got me thinking (imagine that) about certain fallacies--namely, how incorrect beliefs about work keep people from choosing the right career.

It seems like stupidly simple advice, but if anything I would tell a hypothetical someone--me, in my near past perhaps--to "Find something you like." There's an even stupider reason for this advice. Namely I find it extremely difficult, nay, damn near impossible to do things I don't want to do. Even if I need to do them. Even if I should do them. Even if for the love of all things bright, shiny, and wonderful I should want to do them.

Let me introduce you to my good friend, self-deception.

Maybe you can avoid my fate--by challenging these three myths:

The Myth of Pain

In college, I lived implicitly by the tenets of academic masochism: taking 24 units a semester, signing up for that 8:00 AM Trig class, pulling all-nighters every time I had a paper due, you name it. I took a class on non-Shakespearean Renaissance literature my senior year because I wanted to, not because I had to (yeah, I was one of THOSE people).

Somewhere along the way, I got the idea that pain = me becoming a better person. I think in my head I had this (false) image of perfect me. Perfect Me was not only smart, but disciplined. She studied diligently for each class. She never procrastinated. She got straight As.

In reality, I was a terrible procrastinator, never studied as much as I should have, and never got perfect grades.

Perfect Me? Yeah, she never existed. And she never will.

But strangely, it's hard to let that image die. More specifically, it's hard to let go of the belief that if I just do these (good) things, if I just go through this pain, I'll become who I want to be.

The myth of pain taught me that if I wasn't having fun, I just needed to knuckle down and try harder.

Yes, suffering can be good for you, but suffering can also be unnecessary. Do what you like. How do you know if you like it? You don't put off doing it. You look forward to it. No one's holding a gun (or paycheck) to your head.

The Myth of Talent

There's the line of thinking that goes, figure out what you're good at, and go do that.

This is terrible advice.

First of all, there's no future in updating your facebook status every hour and second of all, you could be good at doing something you hate.

Being good at something can create a false sense of responsibility: "I'm a good basket-weaver, so if I don't pursue basket-weaving I'm depriving the world of my talent."

Poppycock. Chances are you are good at more than one thing.

But, you major in engineering because you're good at math and science. Or you get a job at Starbucks because you pull a mean expresso. Or your mom always told you you were good with words so you go to law school.

And now, you hate your job.

There's another way this plays out: you're good at X. People notice you're good at X. You get a promotion/raise/contract to do X. You get all the perks that go with doing X well: approval/recognition/appreciation. People start asking you to do X in your free time. You say yes, because oh my gosh, someone needs me! Over time, you start to become resentful of X. You feel used. Dissatisfied. Drained.

Talent does not equal calling.

Do what you like. How do you know if you like it? You're willing to make an ass out of yourself doing it. You're willing to go through that awkward stage where you have no idea what you're doing. You're willing to suck.

The Myth of Altruism

So you wanna change the world? You want to be a social worker, a missionary, a caretaker.

These are all wonderful jobs. However, they may not be the right jobs for you.

Dr. A.J. Drenth has a take on this as it relates to the INTP personality type (that would be me):

"This desire for affirmation and validation may cause INTPs to overlook good career options because, on the surface, such careers seem too far removed from the source of their desired validation: people. So rather than choosing a career in science, for instance, INTPs may opt for what amounts to a “quick fix” for their inferior and select a people-oriented career, such as healthcare or human services. While at first blush, such people-oriented careers may “feel right” to INTPs (or more specifically, to their inferior function), it is rarely long before they realize that this is not the case. INTPs are better off with a career that allows them to use their top two functions (Ti and Ne) to help others (Fe) in a less direct fashion."

To put it briefly, INTPs don't do well in high-contact careers.

The myth of altruism says, I want to help people, therefore I need to help them in the most direct way possible--otherwise, it doesn't count. 

Have you ever felt secretly guilty that you don't want to be a missionary? Or live in the inner-city? Or scrub floors at a health clinic? 

It's okay. You would be terrible at it anyway. 

Do what you like. How do you know you like it? You're not operating out of a sense of guilt or obligation. Your sense of empathy is not exhausted. You still like people.

Tune in next time for a quiz!

How to Survive a Day Job Without Losing Your Mind

Photo by Rob

Last time I wrote about Working for Free Without Losing Your Self-respect. In this post, you are working for money, not Kit Kats. Congratulations!

However, chances are, you are not yet getting paid to do what you really want to do. You are working a day job--slightly pleasant, less than stimulating, occasionally tedious. Welcome to the next 40 years of your life.

Just kidding.

I believe that you are meant for bigger and better things. But in the meantime, here are some tips to get you through. First--a little contextualizing background: After working for free for a couple months and a month or so of funemployment (I was actually pretty bored), I got a real job working in data entry. So, here goes:

1. Feed your mind.

I may or may not have "watched" an entire four seasons of Grey's Anatomy at my previous day/survival job. Hey. Don't judge. Those were desperate times.

Ok, so don't do what I did and watch trashy TV. If you work at a job that doesn't engage your mind, find something that does. I recommend:

This American Life
Audiobooks. They could save you. Many libraries offer audiobooks for download (no late fees!).
Itunes U

2. Pay your rent.

This may seem obvious, but if you are not making enough money in your day gig to afford rent, you might want to consider getting another job. Or two. Don't go into debt if you can help it. It's not worth it, and chances are you're not going to sell your brilliant screenplay for $$$ just yet.

3. Pursue your passions [on the side].

It can be easy to lose sight of why you moved to Los Angeles in the first place. Just because you're working a day job, doesn't mean you can't pursue your passions. Make time for writing, or acting, or shooting. It may seem counter-intuitive, but sometimes the tedium of 9-5 can be a shot in the arm, creatively speaking.

4. Flexibility FTW

If you get to choose your day job, I would choose something that gives you the flexibility to pursue your passions. Sometimes, it can be a trade off between pay and flexibility, but if you can get both--my job was more of a survival job [as in, barely making enough to survive], but it did give me the flexibility to work other, filmmaking type jobs. I lucked out. Ideally, your work will support you and your goals.

5. Respect your work.

At the same time, it's important to respect the work that you do, that people are counting on you to do your job and do it well, whether that's pulling pints or packing boxes. Respect your boss, respect your co-workers, respect the work.

6. Write it down.

If you are working a particularly boring job, you will have a TON of ideas. A ton. Make sure to write them down (if it doesn't interrupt your work). Scribble stuff in a notebook on your lunch break. Brainstorm during your commute. Take advantage of the ideas that come to you when you're not even trying.

7. Surrender your expectations.

This is a tough one. But if you can, work on letting go of your expectations for success--of what you "should" have achieved by now. Yes, some of your peers will be more successful than you at this stage. So what? You are not your job. And besides, the job that's going to fulfill you completely doesn't even exist. If you're currently working a survival job, I highly recommend reading this post (part of a great series) about underemployment: I Work, Therefore I Am.

8. This is only a phase.

I repeat: this is only a phase. Yeah, I guess you could end up working at Chipotle for the rest of your life, but I highly doubt it. I bet you 12 Kit Kats you'll end up doing something else. I used to stalk about mentally wringing my hands over how I was "wasting my life" working a job that didn't challenge me. Take heart. There is more.

Tune in next time for "Your First Real Industry Job: Don't Screw It Up."

Who I Am v. Who I Wish To Be

“Before I can tell my life what I want to do with it, I must listen to my life telling me who I am.” 

-Parker J. Palmer, Let Your Life Speak

I read (most of) an intriguing little book by Parker J. Palmer called Let Your Life Speak. It's a book about calling, vocation and listening as a means to discovering calling and vocation. 

Part of letting your life speak is separating who you are from who wish you were.

To give an example: I wish I were more of a technical/visual filmmaker than I am. I wish I could get excited and nerd out about new technology. I wish I cared about the visual style of David Fincher or John Ford. I wish I intuitively understood the difference between different video codecs.

Zadie Smith wrote a great essay about ideal readers and the authors they do not choose (rather, the writing of that author chooses you). She writes of E.M. Forster:

It happens that I am E.M. Forster's ideal reader, but I would much prefer to be Gustave Flaubert's or William Gaddis's or Franz Kafka's or Borges's. [...] Rightly or wrongly, I feel I get all his jokes and appreciate his nuances, that I am as hurt by his flaws as I am by my own, and as pleased when he is great as I would be if I did something great. I know Morgan. I know what he is going to say before he says it, as if we had been married thirty years. But at the same time, I am never bored by him. You might know three or four writers like this in your life, and likely as not, you will meet them when you are very young. Understand: They are not the writers you most respect, most envy, or even most enjoy. They are the ones you know. (from The Best American Nonrequired Reading 2003) 

I love this idea of writers and readers meant for each other like soul mates. Again, it's not about who you wish you were drawn to but about who you actually get, I mean really get. I can remember having feelings like this whilst reading Jane Eyre, though I'm not sure who I am the ideal reader for. I suppose I wish I were the ideal reader for Henry James.

I admire writers who can write for miles, days, pages and pages, but I am not that kind of writer. I struggle to reach page and word counts. When I write, I often skip over a bunch of explication and get straight to the point (or at least that's what one professor said). Am I leaving things out because I assume they are obvious? Am I just too lazy to properly set things up? Is this just the way that I write?

In a similar vein, to go back to filmmaking, I wish I had the compassion of a director like Cameron Crowe or Brad Silberling. I wish I cared about my characters the way that they do. I wish I had that kind of empathy, which is to imply that I don't.

All of this is to say a lot about who I am not--not technical, not obsessed with visuals, not given to torrents of words, not empathetic. I know less about what I am. I think that's where the listening comes in. Or the just doing. Relaxing into vocation.

If I'm hearing correctly, I think my life might be saying that I don't write/create within a social vacuum. Filmmaking is always collaborative and I enjoy that aspect of it. I create with my friends and the quality of the work reflects the quality of my relationships. I used to see that as a liability, because if the relationship fell apart, so would the project. But maybe it's more of a gift than a liability.

What about you? Is there a gap between who you are and who you wish you could be? 

I like you but I hate your script

In high school, I had a boyfriend who dreamed of becoming a successful guitar player and singer. I can't speak to his guitar playing, but his singing--well, let's just say my mom once charitably compared him to Bob Dylan. We eventually broke up--not over his singing.

I like you. But your singing makes me cringe.

In college, a friend had me read her script. And I hated it. Perhaps "hate" is too strong of a word--not the word, for instance, that I used when describing how I felt about it to her face. But, well--it wasn't my cup of tea. It wasn't my cup of anything. I thought it was crass, poorly written and derivative. The spelling and grammar mistakes made me cringe. I really, really didn't like it.

I didn't tell her that, of course. I said encouraging things, like "Your descriptions are so vivid" and "I like the character progression in the second act." This seems like good politics generally: pick out the things you like and say something good about them. And I did that. Bullet dodged, or so I thought.

However these tentative words of encouragement had an unforeseen consequence. The writer, my friend, thought she really had something. She started talking about submitting it to agents and production companies. She emailed me, asking for proofreading help so she could prepare it for submission. And my slight, forgivable lie (really an omission of the truth) trapped me in a cycle of dishonesty. How could I tell my friend at this point that I loathed her script? And the more uneasy question, how did I show support for her dream while doubting deep down that she was a good writer?

I like you. But please don't make me read your script.

A friend and I joked about writing a translation guide for friend feedback:
"I liked the beginning and ending."
Translation: "I hated the middle."

It's the fine art of reading between the lines.

Flannery O'Connor famously said, "Everywhere I go I'm asked if I think the university stifles writers. My opinion is that they don't stifle enough of them." And yes, there are probably quite few people who fancy themselves writers who perhaps should not write.

Bad writing tends to get the worst of me--makes me rant and rave, at least internally--especially if other people don't seem to agree that it's bad.

I remember in college we had to write an essay about a poem. I thought the poem was poorly written, sentimental, and stilted, and when my classmate came into class and mentioned that she'd liked it, it set off a question bomb in me. (A question bomb is a question I feel like I have to ask or I'll explode.)

"Is it good?", I wanted to ask my professor. Is this poem good?" I have to know.

But why this drive to know whether something is "good" or not? Not "Do I like it?" but "Is it good?"

I do believe in an objective good and I do believe in good and bad art. But so what if someone disagrees with me about one poem?

The problem with "I like you but I hate your script" is that, as a friend pointed out, that's like saying "I like you, but I hate your soul." And what if that's true? Hypothetically, let's say that I meet a cute guy. And hypothetically, I read some of his poetry. And my reaction is "Dear God."

It's not so much that I could never date someone who writes bad poetry. I write horrible poetry. It's that I couldn't pretend that I thought it was great poetry.

If I'm honest, I think the question "Is it good?" can be traced back to the deeper question of "Am I good?" Or, "What if I'm not?" It's all mixed up with pride and an anxiety of value. I need to know that there's value not only to what I write, but to who I am.

But I am not the ultimate judge of good and bad--for me or anyone else. "Am I good?" If I can answer this question first, maybe I can let the rest rest.

And if I can do that, maybe I can just do the work.






*Distinctions:

In this post, I should make a distinction between critiquing the work of friends and critiquing the work of a significant other or potential significant other. These are different.

Also, there is a difference between judging a product (poem, short story, etc.) and judging the producer of that product.