I have a close to impossible time making big decisions. Small decisions are easy enough. I can generally even breeze through mid-sized guys, but the big ones, I'm about as good at making them as Sarah Palin was at convincing her daughter to be abstinent.
I'm currently trying to muster up the decision making cojones to start a new career. What with the economy in a downward death spiral, the fact that I'm no longer 25 (or 35 or 45, by the way) and my utter and complete fear of failure, I'm plagued with not only debilitating indecision, but also way too many possibilities.
Advertising was an ideal career for me. Getting paid to wear jeans and think up ideas all day was impossibly fun. And even better, I was good at it. The people were interesting and funny, the late night camaraderie was addictive, the paychecks were awesome. I loved the whole darn thing. But at 52, I no longer lust over the possibility of winning a One Show Award or getting the new CA in the mail. I still work for clients, but the adrenaline, excitement and passion I used to get when I walked into an ad agency, or started a new project seemed to have faded like a pair of light wash $250 jeans from Hudson. And the whole idea that all I'm really doing is trying to sell stuff to people that don't really want it, doesn't sit well with the "desire to help the world" side of me.
And so I search. What can I do with my skills: my keen ability to turn a phrase, my desire to make people laugh, my strategic thinking, love of shopping, passion for design, inability to keep quiet for more than two minutes. What should I do with my addiction to helping people, my adoration of kids, my desire to make the world a better, happier place to live? Do any of them pair up to form a career path?
I have been digging like a mad gardener, to understand why I can't make a move to try any of the things I have considered spending the second half of my life doing. I have used my hands, large shovels, even a pricey therapist. For instance, I have been toying with the idea of opening a small store for the past 10 years.FOR. 10. YEARS. Yes, it's now been a decade that I've been thinking about it. And I have for the past two years actually had what I like to call a party thing, which is that I had a party and sold stuff there. It was successful. In fact, quite successful, but still, I cannot get myself out of the foggy land of indecision long enough to make the move to open up shop. Why? Well, way down, really far, somewhere in the center of my stomach lies a familiar voice that says, "A store? A STORE? What are you thinking? This a terrible idea. You don't know a thing about it. You're going to lose every cent you put into it. That's stupid. YOU'RE STUPID." What I realize is that the voice is my negative, alcoholic dad's voice. And while I long ago gave up my desire to please him, I have unwittingly not given up the recording he implanted right in the center of my stomach. And boy does that thing get a lot of play.
Now it seems to me it should be easy to just tell myself to stop listening to the voice, right? Turn it off, unplug it, THROW IT OUT, but apparently it's not just a voice, it appears to be part of my dna, like my olive skin tone and the weird toenail on my right foot.
And so, I let all the possibilities marinate, killing each of them one by one with the voice.
