2023.01 My Search for The Ruby Slippers

Another day in the life of forward navigation in seeking stable, reliable income.

I am a career struggler. Why is that? Oh the answer is ever so convoluted. Not even sure that I can adequately explain it. Some of it is Jack of many trades and master of one I dislike greatly, whose mantel I dawned due to a bad co-dependent problem that I could not see. That last bit seems like a good place to start and maybe with the peach corduroy suit.

We all live with – or maybe it is just me and my overtime working conscience – silent monkeys that climb on our backs from our growing up years. They are the voices of parents and other influencers that tell us things like what and how to be, or obligations they give us or they are rules imputed upon us by often well meaning teachers or religious institutions etc. In and of themselves those directives may not be bad, but they may skew our priorities or distract us from our drive, thwart our motivations or fuel it in the wrong direction for us. OK, that all sounds a little ominous and sinister with a smiley face peeking from behind a curtain, so I will try to break it down some. I say we all have them, because I have seen it in my parents, peers and even my adult children.

College – a dream for many, a broken dream for others, or a legacy of student loan nightmare for the younger set. My parents believed that college was a ticket and I was told at an early age that I was going and they insisted on paying. Now that seems like a tremendous gift, right? It was, but I bore the guilt and shame of it like a burden for a very long time. My intent is not to criticize good parents for doing the best they could with what they had and surely gave their children far more opportunities than they had. They were exceptionally good parents. They were also flawed humans that carried their own monkeys and burdens, struggles and history. My rebellion, if you can call it that, cause all kids have one that allows us to separate from our parents and become our own person, was to be lazy in school and only do whatever I had to do to get by. Grades were a game and I wasn’t gonna play. My dad tried paying off good grades and money doesn’t really motivate me that much either. They could never figure out what would build a fire in me. The real problem is that no one can do that for you. You have to find it for yourself. What I needed and did not know how to ask and they did not know how to give it, was unconditional support for my directions and dreams, however wacky (and yes they were wacky especially to them). I kind of got a little bit from dad, but he was all over the map and mom, I see now did not only not know how to do that, she was obsessed with no mistakes and being perfect. To not be perfect was to fail. Failure is her enemy. To get a bad grade was an embarrassment. She had dubbed me as not the sharpest knife in the drawer I think. She was funding this college thing and while I thought dad was the one unhappy with bad grades cause he was all full of lectures and admonitions, my mother’s silence was shame she must have felt over her child who was apparently not performing well and representing her. I was not gonna be perfect. Actually, it wasn’t in me to be so. That they were more interested in my grades and who I hung out with more than how I was and what was important to me, how I felt called and what I was learning was the bitterness I took away with me upon graduation from college the first time.

We sat at breakfast the morning of graduation at a popular spot off campus. Many other families were there with their graduates. A friend was with a large group across from us. He looked over at me with a look that expressed the same feeling of longing I had. No idea what was his plague at that moment. No doubt family dynamics, different from mine that were plaguing me. My dad had promised a car for graduation in replacement for the beater I had saved for and he helped me buy that I had been driving around for 3 years. Instead a box with a small pink ruby ring in it was given me. I contained my disappointment with a forced smile and thanks thinking that I didn’t even like the pink stones either. My practical side didn’t care about getting an old ring. My 18 year old sister was all abuzz about leaving early because she had prom to go to with her latest beau. They all chattered away. I wanted to slide under the table and be anywhere but there. Graduation came and went. They next day mom and I went shopping at one of the cute little boutiques near campus. She insisted on buying me a suit. I hate suits. It was peach corduroy and I liked it, but had no fantasy of wearing it. I loved the color, but it is not my color unless it is end of summer where all time has been spent outside. She was gonna dress her college grad up in career clothing. I acquiesced as usual. Conflict with mom was then for me and is still nonsensical. You feel bad if you win or lose so it’s best just not to go there cause it isn’t gonna be fun or productive. Best to let her have her agenda. Like with kids, I picked my battles. Really, my parents were my first kids.

My reality at that point was that the feelings of parental agenda to go to college to get a certain set of grades, to live with the natural pressures that come with the rigors of a good education and the emotional growth in that age had overwhelmed me. I just wanted to go work and do things I enjoyed and wanted to do. Instead in my head was a new set of mantras and pressures. They were expectations that were expressed and received by me, though I doubtless not only read them wrongly, I was chained to them and thereby hostage. Now it was expected that I would 1) Get a good job that required a college degree 2) Baptist teachings were strong about “obeying your parents” no matter what your age 3) Getting married needed to be on my agenda too. Now, I wasn’t against any of these ideas, but the pressure on top of my own callings and desires in life was more than I could handle. I had had my own emotional crisis over a relationship or two that I had not really shared with these loving parents, because it would just cost me. They were never willing to see things from my angle. I received no real empathy from them. I was provided for, loved, taught well, raised “right”, encouraged to be a critical thinker – a lot of really good things, but what I was learning, what I cared about, who I was and was becoming didn’t really seem to matter. There was a mechanization about our relationships. To this day there is still that with my mom. She isn’t emotionally strong. I can’t tell her things that are hard in my life without it disturbing her so much that she worries incessantly or badgers me about it. I am co-dependent with her problem by not sharing because it costs me too much and she is unwilling (or maybe just unable) to change her behavior at this stage. So we will never share deeply, nor be connected deeply. It’s sad, but it isn’t bad. To have a peaceable, respectful and reasonable relationship with her is enough for me and it seems to be enough for her as well. I have the deep relationships I need elsewhere. Maybe it makes for less grief as I see her mind slipping.

The bearing all of this has had on me over time is that my priorities have not been to advocate for myself first. I felt for years that everyone else has to be taken care of and then I can do what I want to do. This isn’t out of being a pleaser, cause I am not really one. More that there is a hierarchy of priorities and it took a long time for me to learn to put myself at the top. It was a habit of just doing. Do what I’m told or what is expected of me so as to shut down the naysayers that cause me internal friction or waste my time with their emotional blather. Far easier and more efficient to just get them out of the way and then get what I want. This is very practical and pragmatic. But I am both by nature. The other thing is that I am unafraid of failure or failing to meet others expectations. In fact, the learning that comes from these things is one of my most valuable tools. The only time that I seem to care about keeping someone else happy is when there is too much cost to me personally in terms of emotional wear and tear or waste of time and emotional resources. I’m very protective of myself in that way. It’s trauma avoidance. To this day I hate surprises in general. I like predictability in life, though fully accepting that life is very unpredictable.

What has all of this to do with being career messy? I have made choices that weren’t what I wanted but were to keep the peace and because I was obligated by the unseen monkey or was compelled by the fact that it would be a big battle with a parent to choose a different way because I would appear to be wasting my degree. So I got on the career train to nowhere because it was the only thing available and it was what I had access to because of a parent and it was something new to learn. I disliked it after a year and a half but did not see it as the real problem. It was just the 8-5+more daily and the stress and need to dress and make nauseating details that I couldn’t care less about be the problem solving I was required to do. This felt like an utter waste of myself. Just like that uncomfortable, wrong color for me, peach colored suit. I didn’t belong as a banker, I was a bit of a bohemian and a free spirit.

My life took roads that left me very hooked into the career path that I disliked so much. Even after a stint in school again ending with three certificates and another B.A. I’m still searching for the right thing. What has changed though is that I have become more myself and gravitated back to the things that I always was. I’m pretty sure that I have had the ruby slippers on all along, but unsure where they have been laid in the closet. My adventures of late have taken me down roads of buying and selling stuff, upholstery and sewing. Unfortunately, I have some roadblocks that keep me hostage temporarily. There is no more peach suit. I am free from that. Will keep digging in my closet for those ruby slippers that will transport me into a better future. I know they are here somewhere because I now know that I am who I am and starting with that as my work personality construct that is based on my authentic personality is proof that there is no place like home. The problem I must tackle next is the mindset that has kept me shackled. Pretty sure those ruby slippers are hiding in plain sight and just waiting to be worn and tapped together. There is no place like home.

Kiki