Alive and Messy

A friend of mine knocked on my door last Saturday, hoping to have my ear for a few minutes. She was struggling with a decision about what kind of help to seek for herself. She was in the middle of a self described "mid-life career crisis." She was in pain over it.

Her husband is not a very motivated guy, and while he brings home a decent paycheck, he is not interested in advancing their financial situation. If they are going to be able to help send their two kids to college, or stay in their house long term, it would, seemingly, be up to her to pull in some extra bucks.

This part she did not have a problem with. She has long since accepted that her husband is not a ladder climber. A self described plodder, he is not enough in touch with his own aggression, or blocks to it. He is not going to lead the way financially. He is (often irritatingly so) content with his desk job. My friend, however is a bit more driven. She has a host of anxieties, and more than a few hungers. While this has sometimes gotten her into trouble in the past, by way of untamed addiction and restless indecision, she is successful at her day job. Though she herself feels like she a bit of an under earner, and now has a real wish and drive to overcome it.

She is altogether too sleepy at her current job, she tells me. And she is now ready to deal with herself and her own quest for something more. The director of student programming at a prestigious private high school, she wears many hats. But she has been doing it for a long while, and she wants a change. She wants to be a writer. Her dream, she tells me, is to quit her job, and immerse herself in the world of the written word. She wants to hammer away at the keyboard and put all the things she has been doing and teaching and experiencing with her students these last 15 years into articles and essays, reports, reviews, stories and poems. She wants to see her name under titles, on glossy pages. No Internet publishing, she wants to feel the page with her name on it between her fingers. She wants to be read. But she has no idea how to do this without tossing her current income out the window.

Yes, she knows she could start slow, but she does not want to. She wants to quit and run. She wants a total, abrupt and jarring statement about who she is and what she is going to do. She wants her desire to lead the way. And it she does not mind if it will be messy.

What does she want from me? She just wants someone to know that she is thinking about this. That she may actually do it. She may leave her kids to find scholarships. Maybe the house will have to be sold and replaced by a nice little apartment. She wants to know that she could do this. She does not yet know if she should, but she could.

And she wants to live her life fully aware that she has choices. That she knows what the choices are. She thinks there is freedom in this. That there will be relief of some kind for her emotional pain. The pain of feeling trapped, stifled and not creative. Of not accomplishing something that she really wants to accomplish. And the pain of not feeling like she has possibilities. Somehow, again, knowing she could seems to lift the heaviness, open up the ceiling and see the sky.

And she wants to know that I don't think this is crazy. And that I will help her to tolerate all the feelings that may come along with tossing her stability in the air and changing up her life. Of course she knows that her actions will effect others, that she may not exactly really want to act recklessly in regard to her marriage, or her children's future. We are not talking about the mid life proverbial race car purchase, after all.

No matter what she chooses, there will be feelings to tolerate. Big ones, at times. Down any road, there will urgencies and disappointments, loss and fear. She knows that some of these feelings are familiar themes in her life. That somehow, even in their difficulty, the bad feelings have kept her feeling some kind of safe. But now she wants to talk about a new script. Perhaps to learn to tolerate new feelings, some glorious, some not. She is not sure. And that too will have to be tolerated...the ambiguity of it all.

There is much hope, I tell her. Its good to be with her in her confusion. Its okay with me.