Running Out of Runway: Where My Life Took a Wrong Turn

Do you know what it’s like to be allergic to lies and yet try to live inside a lie every day? Of course you do. If you’re reading this, you’re living inside a series of lies — that capitalism is the best way to live, that our planet possesses unlimited resources, that “nature” is something other than humans, that we humans don’t need each other, that eternal growth is desirable and possible, that the USA is the best country that ever existed and always will be…need I go on?

So many to choose from. And the lie I’m referring to today is my work. Somewhere along the way — in 2005 — my life took a wrong turn. Ironically, it wasn’t the wrong turn at the time. I was a year out of grad school and needed a better-paying job. The work was an excellent fit, and the team was hilarious and smart. The open position allowed me to slot myself into tasks that fulfilled me, gave me room to grow and contribute, and learn.

All this is still true, and yet just as quantum physics is teaching us that mere observation of a phenomenon changes the behavior of that phenomenon, the tectonic shifts of the last few years of my life have changed the way I view the facts of my 30s. Here I sit, months shy of 50, desperately unhappy and unfulfilled. While I’m finally making enough money and paying down debts, my retirement savings are laughable. Even more dire, I have neither of the two things I always wanted — a fantastic relationship and “a cool job.”

Just three years ago, I was feeling fairly contented with my accomplishments to date, even feeling like I could die happy atop those laurels. I wasn’t entirely sure of where to go next with my life, but of that I was certain. None of the facts of my life until then have changed, but my perspective has.

My perspective is this: I may actually never find my beloved, and the relational trauma I’ve endured along the journey may have scarred me too much to ever be a healthy partner to such a remarkable man. There is likely no “cool job” out there that is meaningful, delightful and well-enough paying. I haven’t had very much fun in my 40s, compared to my 20s and 30s. And I might say I’ve made foolish choices with money, although I struggle to pinpoint what I could have done better amidst low-paying jobs, two deadbeat partners, The Great Recession, and a generally modest lifestyle. But the biggest contributor to my changed attitude is that I’ve realized there’s not much runway left, and it’s quickly shortening. Because I’m almost 50.

When I was 25, 30, 35, 40 and even 45 it felt like there was still time. I was still young-looking, enthusiastic and energetic. I could still change, and I still believed the world could change — and would. Now either is doubtful. And I know too much — about how the world works, about what people buy, and about who I really am.

Who I really am is not who I have been being. I didn’t know this before, but I do now, and I can’t regurgitate that blue pill. I’ve always been more honest with other people than myself — heck, maybe that’s true for all people. But because of this, I’ve been an occasional asshole. I got mad at other people and situations for not being a fit, or for being who they are. I beg your forgiveness — I didn’t know, and I’m great at pretending. But I’m getting better.

One downside of being intelligent and talented at many things is that you’re talented at many things. It sounds like horrible privilege — and it probably is — but I envy those who could only do one thing well. As a younger person I got the horrible message that I could “be and do anything” I wanted. Not only is this another lie, it prevents a person from becoming that which they are best suited to be. I excel at whatever I take on. But there is a cost.

One of the benefits of aging is that those costs become too high. Like autumn trees that give up producing chlorophyll and thus reveal their true colors, I don’t have the energy to keep pretending anymore. Pretzeling and chameoloning myself into shapes and colors that aren’t my natural state is exhausting. Despite my intelligence I’m a slow learner. I don’t give up easily — this is one of my best traits and also one of my worst.

So here’s where I now realize I got lost — in 2005 I went to work for an organization. I learned about working on a team, and I got good at helping other teams get better. I learned about leadership and got good at helping leaders get better. I even took on a leadership position. With the sheer force of will, enthusiasm, a sharp mind and a compelling presence, I convinced others that that was what I’m truly here to do. And I believed it too.

But when you want to know the truth about someone, look at the big picture. Look at their actions, over time. The truth is that I suck as a team player. I suck as a leader. I hate organizations — and the relatively few years of my 32-year work history I’ve spent inside organizations have always ended either badly or with resentment on my part. I’ve been a pain in the ass to most of my bosses — some more than others.

I’m not beating up on myself. I’m being honest. (Frankly, I think the focus on “shame-free” speech and environments has gone too far, to the point where we’re not honest with ourselves and each other about our weaknesses and sucky parts.) Guilt is a healthy response to being an asshole and letting yourself and others down. Guilt can inspire change.

Shame on the other hand, isn’t helpful. The shame I’ve felt for my struggles to be a team player, or tow any organizational party line have kept me in situations that weren’t good for anyone. There’s nothing inherently bad about me preferring to work alone, have lots of structure, work only with people who mostly delight me, and be creative and detail-oriented. But it really sucks for bosses, teams and organizations that thrive on teamwork, chaos, constant change, superficial relationships, vagueness and a singular focus on the bottom line.

If I could adapt, self-manage or manifest my way into a fantastic relationship or a cool job, I would have by now. There’s not a therapy, seminar, course, assessment or mastermind approach I haven’t tried. It’s a much more comforting feeling to blame oneself than to face hopelessness. I’m a multiple minority. I have 49 ½ years of experiences and the results of multiple psychometric assessments that are clear — I’m an oddball and an outlier. I’ve felt like an alien most of my life because I am, and because I was raised by two other aliens. And yes, most people feel like an alien at some point in their lives — but not every hour of every day.

So what now? I confess I don’t know. Until my assignment on Earth is up, I’m here. As long as Earth is three-dimensional, I need to earn money to survive. I just don’t know how I’m going to do either. But I do know three things: I’m not bad, I’m not crazy and I’m not alone.