What do you want to be when you grow up?

I hate that question. And I also hate any question that pertains to my future or what I’m going to do with my degree. As a server, it’s not uncommon for my tables to ask what I studied in college. The natural progression of questions leads them to ask what I’m going to do with my psychology degree because obviously I can’t do anything with just a bachelor’s degree. Let’s stop right there. Why do I have to do anything with my degree? Why is it that society expects life to occur linearly? It’s as though everyone’s life is programmed to this universal proceeding formula: Go to high school, go to college, go to graduate school, get a job, have a family, die. How many of your friends do you know followed this formula? Who didn’t take a year or five off to travel or to figure out who they are? Now for those that actually did follow this formula, either for personal aspirations or because of succumbing to the pressures of society, how many of those people are happy and can say they have lived a fulfilling life?

Society conditions us to feel dissatisfied with the present by constantly asking questions about our future. What are you going to do when you graduate? What do you want to be when you’re older? When are you getting married? When will you have kids? Although these questions might have the best of intentions, they’re extremely counterproductive for creating peace within the moment. It’s as though we can’t be happy until we’ve accomplished x, y, or z. We can’t be happy until we have our life completely figured out. Let me let you in on a little secret…no one really has life figured out. The only difference between people is their confidence with knowing that they don’t have life figured out and their ability to accept that fact.

I feel as though teenagers and especially young adults experience constant, unnecessary stress. One of the frequent concerns from my friends is, “I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.” Why do we feel obliged to have our entire life figured out? Because society tells us we do. Realistically though, not a lot goes according to plan. So why stress ourselves out by planning our future? I challenge people instead to focus on what they want to do right now. Today. In this moment. Not in 30 years time, not in five years time, heck, not even in six months time. What do you want to do today? I think part of the reason people are so hesitant to commit to graduate school or finding jobs is because they think they are married to that profession. We are conditioned to believe that if I go to graduate school, I HAVE to get a job in something pertaining to that degree. Which means choosing a degree that I want to do for the rest of my life. And that mindset is so destructive. We are changing every second of every day so isn’t it a little naïve to think that our interests and our passions aren’t going to change as we age and mature? As we experience the unpredictability of life? Many people are led into the fields that they are in because of something that has happened to them or to someone else, something they could not account for. Something they couldn’t predict. Something they couldn’t plan for.

I recall watching a fantastic speech by Steve Jobs and I will attach the link to this post. In this commencement speech addressed to Stanford graduates in 2005, Jobs talked about why he went to college. He went to college because his adopted parents promised his biological parents that they would send him to college, and so he went. And he hated it. He fulfilled that requirement and dropped out. He returned as a drop in and decided to only take classes that he was interested in rather than the required classes he wasn’t interested in. He ended up taking a class in calligraphy and loved it. Looking forward, he was probably thinking (much as we all would), what the hell am I going to do with a class in calligraphy? Again, looking forward, you would probably think nothing. At least nothing conventional or practical. Fast forward 10 years and because of that class, he was able to come up with the versatile fonts for Macintosh. Makes sense when you look backwards right? And that was exactly his point. You cannot align the dots moving forward, you can only do that looking backwards. So instead of trying to figure out how you are going to use this present experience in the future, focus instead on investing in things that you enjoy doing in this moment. Even if they are as bizarre as a calligraphy course.

The other fantastic piece of advice that Jobs offers in this speech is based on the fragility of life. When he was confronted with having cancer, he started to question what he was doing every day. Before going to work every morning, he looked in the mirror and asked himself, If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today? If the answer was no too many days in a row, that is when he knew it was time for a change. Life is precious; too precious to be spent doing things that you do not enjoy. One of my favourite phrases that people use is, “I got myself a big girl job!” Whenever someone says that I immediately envision an office job, lots of money, and a great deal of unhappiness. But that’s because society conditions us into thinking that money is the most important thing in this world. Not our happiness. A part of me dies a little inside whenever I hear that phrase because I invariably think the individual is willingly trading their happiness and sanity for social status and money. Success is not defined by how much money you have. Or what car you drive. Or how many friends you have. Success is defined by your happiness. Because what’s the point of having money if you don’t enjoy what you’re doing? We’re brought into this world with nothing and we leave this world with nothing. So instead of investing all of one’s energy into accumulating lots of material things, I challenge you instead to invest your energy into things that you enjoy. Experiences that will add value to your life. That serve you. Grow you. Change you. Please you.

So when people ask me what I’m doing with my life I tell them that I’m doing it right now. I’m currently working as a server and I thoroughly enjoy it. I’m meeting people who see me, who understand me, and who encourage me to pursue certain inspirations in the future. People who are shaping my passions and interests. I’m also coaching and enjoying influencing the younger generation. I feel strongly about imparting my experiences and insights with this younger generation in hope to reduce the stress they might encounter. To be a mentor to them. And to essentially be the person I wish I had when I was younger. As far as what I want to do next, I don’t know. And I’m perfectly okay with not knowing. I anticipate that coaching will continue to be in my future, as will writing. As far as using my psychology degree, I’m using it every day. I have every intention of going to graduate school and who knows, perhaps I’ll end up getting multiple degrees as my interests change with time and experience. The beautiful thing about life is that it’s unpredictable. Trying to predict unpredictability is a sure way to dissatisfaction and unhappiness. And a path I do not choose to follow.

To those who ask those good intentioned questions about individuals’ futures, I challenge you instead to ask about their present. Ask them what their interests are. Ask them if they enjoy what they’re doing. By placing focus on the future, it increases the likelihood that individuals will feel inadequate with their present situation. We live in a world where we’re constantly being compared to everyone else through Facebook, Instagram, social status etc. It’s time that we change our perspective on success and focus instead on happiness. It’s okay to not have life figured out. It’s okay to not know what you want to do for the rest of your life, or even what you want to do next. Find what you’re interested in now and do that. Don’t be in a rush to “grow up” – life will happen and you will naturally grow with it. Learn to accept what you don’t know and make peace with not knowing what will happen next. Life is a beautiful, unpredictable mess. And that is the best advice I can give.

“The only way to do great work is to love what you do.” (Steve Jobs, 2005).

Missing Christopher

“Most suicidal people are undecided about whether they really want to live or die. Sometimes when they attempt suicide they are gambling with death, and leave it to others to save them.” – David Lester.

I am currently in the process of reading a book that was fittingly recommended to me by my Mum titled “Missing Christopher”. It’s about a mother’s true story of losing one of her sons to suicide and her battle to save her two other sons from the encompassing darkness of mental illness. I have unknowingly and ignorantly ignored some significant repercussions from my personal struggle with suicide last year, but this book is forcing me to confront them. For the past year after shaking Death’s hand, I have selfishly been absorbed with my survival and empowerment to overcome such darkness that I have neglected to consider, let alone ask, those dearest to me how my experiences affected them. A large part of this neglect stems from a failure on my behalf to ask, but also a neglect from others to communicate their own struggle. I suspect their neglect though, was an attempt to prevent me from feeling guilty for my suffering and to avoid making this struggle about them. Instead, many individuals close to me have undoubtedly been suffering in silence.

The individuals I speak of are predominately those who lived with me through this struggle. The individuals who truly grasped how close I was to taking my own life. And not everyone who knew me during this time really comprehended that. My friend Ida and my girlfriend at the time Rachel, both who found my suicide note, definitely grasped the severity of the situation. As did my friend Stephanie, whose house I showed up to that night completely and utterly lifeless. Helpless. Distraught. Both my friend Mel who has been such a significant member of my recovery and my professor of whom I still frequently rock climb with, also grasped the unsettling and confronting reality of my near-suicide. All of these individuals knew how close they came to losing me. Although I was unaware at the time and for a long time after, I have occasionally witnessed how severely my experiences have affected them on a few independent occasions. And then of course, there are my parents. And my brother.

Over the past year, I have frustratingly been unsuccessful at having “that” talk with anyone in my family. I say frustrating because I wanted to talk about it. I felt ready to talk about it and pretty soon after it had happened too. But I was observing the situation with blinders on. I could only see a narrow field of vision. My field of vision. I had glimpses of images from their perspective, but it hasn’t been until reading this book that I have truly been sensitive to the delicacy of my experiences. Ironically then, I haven't actually been ready to talk about it.

The first night that I arrived back in Australia after being in America for two years, we had a family dinner to celebrate the occasion. Given the nature of my family’s passionate and intense personalities, it wasn’t long before discussions became heated. The discussion turned to depression. And then to suicide. I felt attacked by my brothers, misunderstood. I defended myself, my situations, my experiences. All the while upsetting my Oma and parents. Everything was still raw. I was institutionalised only five months prior and had intent to end my life just three months prior. The wounds hadn’t even begun to heal. And I suspect, the wounds had not even begun to feel again. Instead, shock and numbness dominated their realities.

On the 28th of December 2014, my parents received a call (I suspect). Their daughter, their only daughter, who was living in a country entirely by herself, was in the hospital: suicide attempt. That’s all they were told. That’s all anyone knew. That’s what the doctors recorded it as. That’s what I would go in the books under a statistic as. But, with complete clarity I can confirm that it was not a suicide attempt. I had no intentions to end my life that night. It was a cry for help. A severe cry because my former attempts had gone unnoticed. Communicating my struggles weren’t heard. Intentionally and visibly harming myself was ignored. And so I took it to the next step. And it was received. But it undoubtedly traumatised my parents and those closest to me at the time. Imagine receiving that call and knowing that it would be at least 36 hours before you could even reach your child, assuming one could leave immediately? Despite pleading with my Mum not to worry and not to send anyone over, my Dad arrived the next day. He wouldn’t be able to see me for another two days though, given that I was an in-patient at Ridgeview and visiting hours were restricted to Wednesday nights.

On the night I returned home back in Australia, things escalated quickly. My Dad shouted “Enough!” and Robert left feeling blamed. My Mum then stated that she didn’t want to talk about feelings, she just wanted to talk about our favourite colour or something superficial. I got up, teary eyed, and feeling personally attacked with my sense of identity victimised, “That’s one of our problems Mum. You never want to talk about feelings.” I defined my very essence, my very being, by my ability to hold deep, heavy conversations. That’s who I was. At least, that’s who I thought I was. I was, and still am, a sensitive soul. I crave depth. I need feelings. I can’t function on superficiality. And that is something that has isolated me throughout the duration of my life. Fortunately now, I am able to maintain a more balanced conversation, though my soul still yearns for that depth. For that connection.

I felt misunderstood. Hurt. I felt like the black sheep of the family. I felt rejected. I felt like I couldn’t be loved for who I was. I wanted to go “home” – back to America. I hated Australia. Reflecting back now, these reactions by all in my family were completely understandable. My parents almost lost one of their children. My brothers almost lost their only sister. My parents were grieving a life they were so close to enduring. And that was something they did not want to be reminded of, not then, and probably not now either. But they still were. They still are.

Over the years, my Mum has wanted me to come back to Australia. But particularly within the last year. To which I have frequently defied her and felt frustrated because of an overwhelming sense of being misunderstood. I felt like she was not respecting my decision to stay in America, my desire to remain independent. But it wasn’t until today that I finally understood why. Her desire for me to come home has nothing to do with respecting my decision. It has everything to do with her wanting to protect me. My Mum feels responsible. She feels guilty. She has never admitted that though, but I suspect that is why she recommended this book to me. To offer a glimpse into her struggle with what I went through. Albeit she never “lost” me, no, but she almost did. And to me, that guilt is probably just as poignant.

Jayne Newling, the author of Missing Christopher, also discusses her fear of losing Nic, the youngest son. That fear was present before Christopher’s death and intensified after. Jayne was so consumed at the thought of losing her youngest due to the demons in his head and ability to articulate his desire to die, that Jayne overlooked Christopher’s own struggle. The struggle he endured in silence. The struggle that would become so evident in hindsight. Christopher was the middle child. And I see many parallels between Jayne’s family and that of my own. I am the youngest and I struggled with suicide and depression, much like Nic. I doubt my parents ever foresaw my illness escalating as rapidly as it did, but a large part of that was due to me living in a completely different country half way around the world. Before I took a turn for the worse, my parents were worried about Robert, technically the middle child, but as he’s a twin I’m not sure that still applies. After my experience, my parents, especially my Mum, has heightened sensitivity to depression and suicide. It wasn’t until today that I finally understood her concern with Robert. It wasn’t until I read a comparable personal account, articulating the thoughts my Mum has silently endured, that I finally understood.

I suspect Robert took my near-suicide extremely personally too. He alluded to it in a conversation one day, but brushed it aside as though he didn’t feel responsible. Before I was institutionalised, I had reached out to my brother numerous times asking to please skype with him, but he was busy as he himself was going through a few things. When I was at the hospital on the 27th of December, I recall texting him, furious with the world, stating, “If people just listened to me, if people just answered my calls, I wouldn’t fucking be here right now. This is fucking bullshit.” That was a dagger to his heart. He felt responsible. He felt guilty. He knew I had reached out to him and he wasn’t there. Although I didn’t blame him in the text and still don’t to this day, he felt like he failed at protecting his younger sister. And I suspect he still feels that way.

My Mum is worried about my brother. And I am too. But I insensitively keep brushing it off because I know that you can’t help anyone who doesn’t want to help themselves. But now I know that my Mum is really worried. Much like Jayne was worried she too might lose her youngest Nic after losing Christopher, I suspect my Mum worries she might lose my brother. Perhaps she feels like she was given a second chance with me and is using that second chance to prevent a similar outcome coming to fruition with my brother. Perhaps it is through this book that she is articulating her own personal struggle with grief, with guilt, with an almost tragic ending.

My Dad almost lost his little girl. And I know he struggles, too. But much like Phil, the husband of Jayne, he is much better at hiding his struggle and at conveying normalcy within his life. He uses humour, with me and with others, to mask his pain. I see through that though, particularly when he looks at me. His once proud and glowing sparkle in his eyes is now filled with heaviness, sadness, and fortune. He is thankful I am still here. His words may fall silent, but his eyes vocalise his truth.

So to my Mum of whom I know will read this post given her endless support in my openness and willingness to express myself, I owe you an apology. I apologise for my insensitivity and frustration with your inability and seeming reluctance to discuss what happened to me. I ignorantly thought you never grasped the severity of my situation, but I realise now it is quite the opposite. You are fully aware of what I endured and have struggled to accept that potential reality. Struggled to comprehend losing a child to suicide; a death that cruelly appears to be preventable. A death that occupies the residence in one’s soul and disguises itself in the form of guilt. The guilt that consequently kills you. I apologise too, for my nonchalance towards my brother’s situation. I understand, now, why you have been so adamant on helping him and so reluctant to take my emotionally detached advice.

To my brother, if you ever read this, you were never responsible for what happened to me. The only way I was going to be saved was if I saved myself. I gambled with death that day, and I won. I was gifted a second chance and perhaps that second chance is to ensure you never need one.

The invulnerability in vulnerability

As I was writing the post “The Power in Vulnerability,” I started to question why we perceive certain things as making ourselves vulnerable. I recall writing this, Sometimes I question myself as to why I find it difficult to be vulnerable, to show a little emotion, to tell people I’m not doing okay and I’ve concluded it’s because of this terrible thing named pride. And by pride I mean our ego. We’re so afraid of rejection and of getting hurt (which is really just our ego anyway), that we deny ourselves opportunities to make connections with others, or perhaps we’ve made a connection but now we’re preventing the connection from strengthening out of fear of getting “too close”. Why do we have to perceive being vulnerable as a risk? If someone doesn’t respond to what we’ve said, we perceive it as rejection. But what if being vulnerable was the norm; if we merely wore our externalized emotions with no attachment to the outcome?

So I ask again, why do we feel obligated to associate vulnerability with risk, pain, and suffering? Why do we need to guard our heart? I have always struggled with this quote from Proverbs 4:23, “Above all else, guard you heart, for everything you do flows from it.” Again, what is there to guard? Why do we perceive our life story, our history, our experiences, our feelings as something so private that sharing them might end up hurting us? How can those things actually hurt us? And the answer, they can’t. It’s not our story or our experiences or our feelings that hurt us. Nor is it the sharing that hurts us. It’s our expectations of the response that hurts us. Often when we open up to someone, we consider it to be a significant event – we are choosing to share some of the most intimately painful events of our lives with this potential stranger. But why do we have to consider that a risk? Since when was being honest about things that are facts a risk? This thing happened in your past. This thing hurt you. Okay. Can you change it? Can you rewrite history? No. It is what it is. The key here is that it is in the past. It happened. It is not still happening. Reluctance to discuss what happened though, allows that pain to keep happening. It makes the past present.

These thoughts were inspired by the following quote from The Power of Now, “Only through the letting go of resistance, through becoming “vulnerable,” can you discover your true and essential invulnerability.” Resistance means a reluctance to accept what is. All situations are what they are. Does that mean you can’t change them? No. Does that mean you need to be passive in your life? Not at all. You can still be proactive and instigate change, but it’s about accepting the situation for what it is and letting go of your expectations of what you thought it might be or what you wanted it to be.

I have often been told that I make myself too vulnerable. But I’ve frequently questioned how? I live with my heart on my sleeve, yes. And I also frequently communicate how I feel. But how does that make me susceptible to getting hurt? If I get hurt, doesn’t that have more to do with my expectations of the response than it does with my actual actions? Take my post, “A love letter of sorts,” I made myself extremely “vulnerable” in that post. I openly communicated how much this individual means to me. Now I didn’t really get a response from this individual, which is more than okay, but others would perceive that as rejection. Here I am presenting my feelings and they weren’t necessarily validated. But why did they need to be? Isn’t it validation enough that I merely felt what I was feeling? Why do I need external validation? And the truth is, I don’t. You don’t, either. The only reason I might perceive this as rejection is if I took the lack of response personally. If I was attached to a certain response. If I wanted a certain response. All of that though, is the ego. That’s the ego needing validation. Without the validation, the ego is hurt. Bruised. The ego takes it personally. The ego suffers. When in reality, the ego thrives off of pain and suffering because that’s what strengthens it. But the ego is not you. The ego is unconscious. You, though, are conscious.

I had a conversation the other day with someone whom I have hurt in the past when I cut off ties in attempt to move on and heal. I was asking questions about how she was doing, about her family, if she was okay, and she reciprocated by asking me the same. I recall openly discussing the struggles I was presently facing with staying in America, returning to soccer, and of missing an individual. When I asked her the same questions though, I was answered with a somewhat superficial response. To which I responded, do you feel as though you can’t talk to me about this because I have burnt the bridge of open communication? And her answer was yes. Because I had hurt this individual, she no longer entrusted me with her feelings. We were no longer close and so I was seemingly not deserving of open responses. To which I entirely understand and accept. This individual has evident fear of getting hurt again, fear of opening up and having me leave again, and the thought of that pain is unbearable. And to overcome that fear would be a risk. A risk she was not willing to take. A risk that was self-perpetuating. But I started to question, what is it about one’s life, one’s feelings, one’s experiences that holds so much power? The answer? The power we unconsciously give them. They don’t actually hold any power. I have struggled to understand how being open about my past and my experiences could potentially hurt me, how honesty is considered vulnerable and how being vulnerable means that you could get hurt. The only thing that could potentially hurt me is, as I’ve said, my expectations. One of the primary teachings in Buddhism is that, “Expectations are the root of all suffering.” Perhaps because I am entirely open with everyone in my life, I do not fear one individual leaving, because I have confidence in knowing I will just open up to the next person who enters my life. But I acknowledge many people don’t operate like this. Many people have trust issues. Who doesn’t have trust issues though? Who hasn’t been hurt by someone they cared about? We all have. That’s a fact. Are you going to continue living your life in fear that you might be hurt again? That fear is merely your ego. It feeds off of it. Your ego can’t survive without fear. Your ego also can’t survive without pain. Once you realise that your past really doesn’t hold any power over you and that the only power it holds is because of your self-created ego, you will be free of that pain. Once you accept the past for what it was and reflect in a conscious, aware manner, the past will not cause you to suffer in the present.

I made myself “vulnerable” to two other people recently. These were two individuals who have been exceptional role models in my life. Mentors. People I highly respected. But for reasons I cannot quite understand, and have accepted that I won’t understand, communication ceased. I reached out to them. I wrote one of them a letter communicating my struggle to understand what happened, my acceptance of not being able to understand, and communicated how much this individual has shaped the way in which I live my life. I communicated that I missed her and I missed our interactions and that I would love to reconnect. I also communicated that my feelings towards her were independent of her response to this letter. A response that I never received. A response I also received from the other individual I reached out to. Now, many would perceive this as a clear rejection. I made myself “vulnerable” by communicating how I felt, how much this individual means to me, and by asking to catch up, and none of this was acknowledged nor validated. I could take this personally and internalise and question whether it’s a reflection of my worth. But it’s not. Their response is completely independent of me as a person. I am not hurt nor am I disappointed – I spoke openly about how I was feeling and was not attached or expecting any kind of response. I didn’t need validation. I don’t need validation. I received it within myself because I was feeling it. If I died tomorrow, I would be at peace knowing I communicated all that was on my heart. I communicated without fear. Without expectation. And in a way that made me feel invulnerable. My feelings are what they are. My past is what it is. I accept them wholeheartedly. The only power they hold is the power I give them. And that power comes from unconsciousness. From my ego. But I don’t want to suffer. I don’t want to be distrusting of others. I don’t want to confine my life to the narrow boundaries of “comfort”. I want to pledge fully into the world of “vulnerability.” Into a world where I can and will speak openly about my past and my present. A world where I am entirely my authentic self without fear of self-perceived rejection. A world where vulnerability is merely true invulnerability.

So I challenge you to speak openly. To discuss your past. To communicate your feelings. To do so in a way that makes you feel invulnerable. To realise that these are all just things, facts almost, and the only power they have is the power you give them. Communicate in a way that is independent of external responses, void of attachment from external validation. Validate yourself. And let go of the resistance to what is. I hope you find the invulnerability that exists just below the surface of vulnerability, below the surface of the ego, and within the realms of consciousness.