Like a code uttered down the phone by a kidnapped person to raise the alarm of the person on the other end, there was a meme circulating recently in which people offered up the words they would say if they needed to issue a cry for help. They were often funny, low-stakes, unpopular opinions. Things like, βIf you ever see me post about how good Real Housewives of New Jersey season 6 is, just know Iβm in trouble.β Because trust me, no one would ever announce that genuinely.
What Iβm about to say would have classified as a cry for help if uttered by me a few years ago, but today itβs just a new attitude Iβve noticed has taken up residence in my heart and mind. The thing that wouldβve sent me calling a therapist for an emergency appointment between the ages of 23 and 33 is: Iβm not aspiring for anything.
That sentence doesnβt make me feel helpless or hopeless. Iβm as far from unmotivated as you can get; for a full-time freelancer who makes my own schedule, most weeks look like a terrifying grid of colour-coded responsibilities. Iβm not meandering or searching for purpose and meaning. Iβm booked, busy and totally content not hoping for anything more.
Credit: Robin Cowcher
Iβve felt a version of this before. A few years ago, over cocktails with a friend on a warm night in late summer, I felt a lump in my throat as I described the moment Iβd had that day. I was sitting in the home office of the apartment I loved and paid the rent for on my own, my sweet adopted cat was purring between my hands as I worked, the bookcase behind me had sections dedicated to the magazines and newspapers my writing had appeared in, and a few stray copies of the memoir I published when I was 27 and objectively too young to have been writing a memoir. And I felt a sudden, overwhelming sense that it was just β¦ enough. I might never achieve another big milestone in my life, but Iβd be totally content. My friend began referring to it as βBrodieβs epiphanyβ, so at odds was it with how I normally operated.
New York writer Megan OβSullivan recently published a piece called βIβm Losing Interest In The Chaseβ, on her website, Byline. βI know chasing. Iβve felt the high of a hot pursuit β running after anything that would provide even a brief moment of confidence β and I know what the withdrawal feels like once itβs over,β she wrote. βI already ran out of breath only to feel brief exuberance and then find that the trophy was completely irrelevant to what I actually needed, or what I was trying to feel. So Iβm just going to walk a little.β
I donβt recall exactly when the contentment dissipated. Probably when I got the notice to leave that apartment and found myself packing up those books and magazines and that cat twice in the space of seven months, needing to scrape together work and commissions to pay for the removalists and cover the time off. Or maybe it was when I saw someone I didnβt like getting a job I barely even wanted or knew existed. Thereβs no motivator like rage and resentment.
But recently, itβs come back. A few opportunities have come my way, and Iβve found saying no to be more simple than itβs ever been before. It didnβt leave me with a stale taste in my mouth, or the voice in my head telling me, βSaying no means no one will ever ask you again!β It was that reinforcement that I realised I was after for so long: being asked.
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While I know Iβm lucky to get offered promising work opportunities, Iβve been doing this job long enough to have learnt two things for certain. Firstly, itβs not a zero-sum game. The things available to me are not finite or impossible to acquire if I really set my mind to grabbing onto a good one. And secondly, I am certain now that the validation of seeing my name on an Instagram tile promoting an event Iβve agreed to participate in is not always worth the nights I will inevitably spend preparing for it, in lieu of all the other things life requires.
Melbourne designer Sienna Ludbey coined the phrase βsnail girlβ to sum up a similar feeling. She realised βlosing driveβ was really just a sign she was growing up. When youβve grown accustomed to pace and gamifying your life β through Wordle streaks or closing exercise rings or competing in reading challenges that twist pleasure into competition β aiming for less can feel like giving up. But the less you ascribe validation to professional achievements, the more possible it is to find it in smaller, quieter, less shareable places.