we all need a job to do

how i found myself again in a carry-on bag

It happened.

I forgot my own advice. The lesson it took me a year-long project to discover.

I spent all of last year committed to finding happiness. Each month, I focused on a different area of my life—friendship, creativity, health, etc.—and built in trackable habits that laddered up to that month’s area of focus. And the project worked: I found the happiness (see: fulfillment) I was looking for. It wasn’t the habits themselves that lead to that sense of deep fulfillment, though—it was overcoming the challenges they presented. Doing 10 push-ups every morning for 1 month didn’t make me happy in and of itself—but committing to doing something that was hard for me, every single day, and then DOING it—that’s what made me happy, proud, and excited keep rolling the Sisyphean stone up the hill.

In the closing of my final post of the happiness project series, I write: “when that day (when I no longer feel challenged) arrives, I hope I'll have the clarity to recognize it as an opportunity to embrace a new challenge.” Part of me knew what was coming; the return of the despair that made me pursue the project in the first place.

journal entry from the other side

It’s hard to say when exactly I lost myself again. It wasn’t like I woke up and the world was completely black. It was more of a gradual change; a slow loss of color. When you’re outside in the summer, enjoying the purple of twilight and then, seemingly all of a sudden, you look up again and it’s pitch black. That is where I found myself, just last week: in the pitch black. My world had lost all of its color once more. My inner dialogue was plagued by self doubt; questioning first my writing, then my appearance, and, ultimately, my very self. I felt burnt out and resentful. I found myself seeking out quick hits of dopamine through caffeine, food, and social media.

But sometimes you can’t recognize the dark for what it is until the sun begins to rise again, distinguishing day from night.

This is how I realized, at 3:45 PM on Friday, sprinting down Terminal 4 of John F. Kennedy airport, my massive backpack thumping against my shoulders while I rolled a little pink carry-on in my left hand, my flight scheduled to take off at 4, that I had, once again, slipped into the dark.

I was leaving for 2 months of travel, and my first destination was Copenhagen, where I had booked a stay in a 4-bed hostel room. Having been cheap when purchasing my flight months ago, I was limited to 1 carry-on and 1 personal item for the greater portion of my summer months.

The reason I was running was because I had to pack, and re-pack, and re-pack again in order to make my summer wardrobe fit into my luggage allotment (10 shirts, 3 skirts, 1 sweater, 3 shorts, 1 pair of pants, 4 sports bras, 4 running shorts, 5 bathing suits, 6 pairs of shoes, 2 fitted sheets (gifts), 1 boxed perfume (gift), makeup, toiletries, socks, underwear, journal, laptop, kindle, red light face mask, 9 packets of LMNT, 4 special chocolates, 1 pen). I had hot red marks on my fingers from the strain of forcing together the zippers of my packing cubes. My hands were raw and aching.

And running down the terminal, I saw, for the first time in weeks, the light. I am back, I thought, sweat dripping down my spine. I am alive.*

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I think now is time for me to tell you all about my family’s German Shepherd. Her name is Zoe, and she’s really a very sweet dog. But if she doesn’t have enough mental stimulation—tasks, exercise—she gets anxious. And that anxiety turns into aggression, an aggression that finds its unfortunate release upon any and all other dogs she comes across (never humans, thankfully).

It’s why German Shepherds are working dogs. They need purpose. Tasks. Structure. A job. It’s their brilliance. Also, their burden.

You see, you and I are a lot like Zoe.

Without real challenge—not just the kind of “challenge” most corporate 9-to-5s assign, but the kind that requires real effort—our minds invent their own. And unlike Zoe, who turns her frustration outward, we have been socialized into not trying to attack random passerbys (most of us). And so, our aggression finds an inward outlet. We pick at ourselves. We assign the problem to our appearance. Our ambition. Our writing. Our worth.

This was the position I found myself in. Having plateaued in my growth once more, lacking meaningful challenge, I created my own: my writing, my appearance, my very inner core being. Everything about me was wrong, and I attacked every aspect of my being like Zoe would a poor yorkie. I was the problem.

Or so I thought—until I had to pack.

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The day slipped into night, then returned again to morning. I lost the path, then found it, then lost it once more. I will lose it again, I’m sure. But for now, I’ve returned to the light.

And in offering these words, I hope to keep the flame alive a little longer—because even the brightest fire must be fed.

And what feeds it best? Sharing the light.

Everyone has their own version of difficult. For me, the thought of stepping into an unknown city by myself—confined to a small space with strangers, my entire existence for two months reduced to what fits in two bags—is the perfect kind of challenge: one that's as exhilarating as it is frightening.

What’s something that scares you?

Please accept this spark—let it catch and let it carry! May we all burn bright :)

*(You could argue, here, that I am simply excited to start my European travels. This is plausible, but let me just say this: it is 80 degrees and sunny in New York right now. Six of my friends are having fabulous parties in the next two weeks, all of which I will not be there to attend. It’s 60 degrees and raining in Copenhagen as I write this, where I know no one and will be sleeping in a prison cell/space ship collab with three random strangers. This is not the Amalfi Coast 4-star hotel summer of dreams.)