When I started writing this, I was going to title it, “Requiem for a Dream,” and then I realized I didn’t know where that came from, only recognizing that it had to have been a title of something. I thought maybe a classical music piece but then Google showed me my error, and the plot line of the novel turned movie gave me perspective. I came to the conclusion that the title was a bit too dramatic seeing that the content would not come close to the sad circumstances following those characters. This is a sort of requiem for a dream, but it isn’t of a futureless future. This requiem holds a celebration for what is to come and a fate avoided more than a dear thing lost.
Like many others through the country and world, I recently was laid off from my all-consuming job due to the strained economy and social distancing in the wake of the corona virus. At first, I felt as if the floor was yanked away from under my feet and I had difficulty grounding myself in reality. That job had been my identity, my social life, my reason for being for 2 years and now there was a void where it used to occupy. “Where do I go now? What do I do? Time to start the job hunt.” Those were not my first thoughts. My first thoughts, when I could actually think about it and not sit there in stunned silence, were “Really? They got rid of me? I’m free?” And while it did hurt to be dumped after all the time and effort, literal blood, sweat, and tears, it also relieved me. I had been on the verge of quitting for the past 3 months, ever since there was a changing of the guard, a reorg, a new boss.
And now I wonder those thoughts, a few months later. I’ve been working on a contract with a great engineer who has become my mentor and had helped me get that job I just lost. But the contract is destined to end in another couple of months, and so I find myself in this old, familiar place of existential dread. Then he helped me come to the conclusion that this doesn’t have to be all that I am. I don’t have to write myself off and put myself in the corner, forced to stick with engineering. Before we had that conversation, I had been pondering the concept: I tried engineering, the closest I thought I would enjoy it. And sure it had it’s glamour, its pleasures. I tested rocket engines and stages, made lots of pretty lights and lots of noise. But still there was that sense of lacking, of less than happiness. And now that I had tried it successfully for a couple of years, I proved to myself that I could do it. Any action after that will not be taken because I thought I couldn’t go down that road. It is no longer an issue of “can” but rather “want.”
My boss-mentor identified that in me. Engineering does not make me excited. I used to feel something about different aspects, I felt some semblance of passion for launching rockets into space. I thought robotics were really cool. And now I can’t seem to enjoy the prospect of actually working on any of those things. My previous work was so demanding and cult-y, I wonder if it didn’t ruin dedication and enthusiasm for me. I had so little to begin with, and I threw it all at that one job.
But I did say this was a sort of celebration, didn’t I? It isn’t all doom and gloom. Recently, I’ve received tons of encouragement from my friends and family (and boss!) to pursue my lifelong dream and goal of publishing a book. I’ve held on to this hope closely since I was a child writing my first short stories with scenes stolen straight from The Matrix and The Fellowship of the Rings. For so long, I cherished the thought that I would at least self-publish, even if no one approved, even if no one read the thing in the end. And now I’m hearing my circle say, “Do it. Write. What are you waiting for?” As if I needed permission, I think to myself, and yet, it’s as if a gate had been closed in front of me and now is opened wide.
My feet stand still before this gate, and I stand there dumbfounded. I should be dashing through while I have the chance, but I find myself rooted in fear. What if I fail? What if I can’t even finish a book? What if I succeed and I do finish it but end up hating the process and find out it is also not for me? It’s the last thing I’ve allowed myself to have in reserve for what I want to do with this life. For all those reasons, there is more pressure on writing than there ever was on engineering. I knew I didn’t really care about engineering going in, but I had been raised to believe that I needed that to be able to support myself. I had that, but in the end, it was not a sure thing to support me like I was led to believe. But I knew that I didn’t have a stake in engineering, and so there was nothing to lose. With writing, I have everything to lose. I care about it, and so if I fall short, I will hurt all the more from that.
It’s a familiar tale. I’m sure you, my reader, have gone through this. We must all struggle against this fear, acknowledge it, embrace it, defeat it, if we are to accomplish bigger and better things than we ever could if we played it safe. And doesn’t that indicate that we’re on the right track? Many of us are quite good at coasting. Isn’t it time for us to soar?
Fain to List 