The Beautiful Unknowns

Over the course of this last month, I’ve had plenty of reasons to up and quit my job. There’s the mindless, “Death by Meetings” that seem to occur every time you get someone too smart in a conference room. Someone who can’t just make a quick decision but feels compelled to draw pretty graphs on white boards, complete with stick figures, plans, interim plans and then long-term plans. There’s the way I am told to “take the lead”—a phrase generally reserved for big action items and strategic projects—but in these cases it’s to set up meetings in outlook, check with the team to see what kind of take out they want for lunch. Or put in an order for supplies and other such intern-esque tasks.

There’s the numbers. I was a freakin’ journalism major! I didn’t go out into the real world to deal with spreadsheets, profit and loss statements, pro formas and the like! If I had known that this was my future, I would have taken something beyond college algebra, where my homework was a mere five questions a night, a task I did prior to the keg stands, sneaking alcohol into the dorms and other such things to continue my education.

And beyond the grumblings (we all grumble, we do), the lack of communication (just what IS our long term goal here?) and the fact that everyone seems to think it’s okay to call you when you’re home sick or out on vacation when they can’t locate a file or figure out how to use the presentation binder…it’s not all that bad.

That’s right. It’s not all that bad.

I have to admit that. I was giving my job some thought this week, and all things considered: it just ain’t that bad. I have a good salary. I have a nearly non-existent commute. I have a pretty green corporate card and a brand new notebook and matching leather bag. But the biggest thing is: I get to travel to fun places.

Next month I am out of town for four weekends in a row. It all starts off in Phoenix and then from Phoenix I fly to DC for a week. I’m back in Los Angeles for just four days before hopping a flight to Chicago. Then, later in September I am in Dallas. In October I spend a sweet five fabulous nights in New York City and then take a train down to Philly. It feels good for me to book these trips on a credit card other than my own.

And this leads me to yet another conclusion. Despite my love for wandering and trekking and being on a plane (well, wait. I am sort of scared to fly). Okay, being in an airport. Meeting strangers. Seeing new things. Walking down that road not knowing where it’s going to lead me. Despite all of that—I am a control freak.

And I think that’s what led to all of this “Must Move” business. I am not sure I can handle uncertainty so well. When I came to Los Angeles I was certain, or near-certain, of my life. I thought I knew what the next year held in store for me. And then within three-month’s time all of that got swept away. I didn’t know where my home was anymore (Phoenix? Los Angeles? Some city on the east coast?)

But what I am discovering, slowly, in a hand-holding way, is that it’s okay to not know. Someone told me that I’m on a journey and that from the outside, looking at me, she sees a beautiful thing. My chaos? Beautiful? I am not so sure. But that’s what she said.

And talking to my friend Matt last night as we walked the dark sidewalks of Santa Monica looking for his lost keys, he’s not so sure of things. And he’s okay with that.

And my friend Eric over in Chicago is okay with all of the unknowns and uncertainties.

And my friend Brandon in London ran away to Europe because he prefers the unknowns.

Why am I feeling like the only one so set on having a plan? And isn’t that a contradiction since I seem to love adventure all the same? Don’t people call me a free spirit? Is it true that I only like adventure if I am in control of it, a sort of planned chaos?

To be continued.

(But yeah, I guess my job isn’t so bad).