Every time I feel this way I take on a new project. Last time I started an MBA. The time before that got a puppy when my daughter was an infant.

It’s like a temporary lapse in sanity, in order to help me *feel* something.


*Now, this is when my mother would tell me that I need Jesus. She’s worried about my soul, but I think my soul is okay right now. (Sorry, mom)

So what do you do when you don’t feel like you have a purpose? Me? I start searching for it EVERYWHERE 

Exhibit A:  A small sampling of unfinished projects started while in search of inspiration/purpose/SOMETHING:

  • I’m still working on my MBA.
  • My puppy is an asshole who has made my backyard basically unusable in his never-ending search for earthworms and cicadas.
  • I have a stack of at least 10 books on my nightstand that are half finished.
  • I started painting my kitchen cabinets 2 years ago.
  • I have a closet full of half painted canvases from my phase as an artist.
  • The sewing machine I *needed* has been used, once… maybe.
  • Quilting, crochet, gardening.

…and the list goes on. It is a seemingly endless cycle of starting things because I’m feeling bored and I need to be inspired, generally never to be finished. It works, for a time.

I thought that I wanted to be a graphic designer. Turns out I don’t love being a graphic designer. I have a modicum of talent, I have some technical skills and I have an ‘eye’ as they say, but apparently, to be an artist of any kind, you need passion and passion is what I don’t have. Not for that anyway. I don’t want to endlessly edit your stupid brand identity. I’m so bored. How boring.

AND THEN! Insult to injury, my brain shifts from I’m so bored to ‘maybe I’m just boring.’ 

I used to be endlessly optimistic about the fact that I would certainly run the world someday.  WHEN DID I LOSE THAT AND HOW DO I GET IT BACK?

I don’t think this is an unusual feeling or process (though it does seem a little crazy to see it in words) but I don’t think we talk enough about learning and growing up when we’re supposed to already be grown up. We all need to figure our own shit out in our own way, and my way just happens to be in a perpetual cycle of high hopes and big ideas that get lost in a sea of mothering, wifing, life, and eventually becomes discouragement and self-pity/loathing/deprecating.  

Why is discovering yourself reserved for ‘coming of age’ tales?

I don’t have any answers and maybe I’m just rationalizing my lack of follow-through, but maybe, JUST MAYBE, we’re all just a work in progress.  In the end, what is so wrong with continuing to search for passion and play and purpose for our whole lives?  

Go play and I’ll see you out there, ma.