Living in the Past 14 Years

I have been far too distracted in my adult life by the things I don't want, rather than focusing on what I do want. If I'm not stressed about my financial situation at any given time, and worrying if I'll ever know what it's like to experience financial freedom, then I'm too concentrated on the fact that I work in a place that is not conducive to me being successful in my career.

I should, in fact, be fantasizing about what it's like to experience financial freedom and figuring out how to achieve it, as well as getting my ass out of my current work environment and figuring out how to do my job in a way that allows me to live up to my full potential.

I have the confidence, experience, and education to do what I want, exactly the way I want it, and yet I feel so out of control of the direction of my life. But if I don't suck it up and take control, who the fuck will?

I'm fucking 37 years old. It is time to do things differently. It is time to do things that will benefit me in the long run, instead of worrying about how behind I am and wondering how I'm going to get through today.

I should know by now that trial and error is okay, as long as I keep moving forward. I really don't have anything to lose, except everything. But I can bounce back from losing everything. I've gotten this far, haven't I?

I crave autonomy in all aspects of my life, especially my career. I can have that autonomy if I just push myself a little harder. Actually, at the present moment life is lighting a fire under my ass to get me moving. The universe has a funny way of doing this to me - to all of us. And I don't resent the universe for making me move. Sometimes the universe has more confidence in me than I do.

Ever since I became a college student and my inner world was exposed to dreams I had never dared to dream, and thoughts I never thought to think, I've seen myself doing something above average with my life. Even when I couldn't pin point what that above average thing was, I knew I was meant to do something different from most folks.

14 years ago, for example, I knew I had to move to the big city. I've also always known that I never wanted to be bogged down with marriage and kids because I knew in my heart I was meant to take a different path. I knew I didn't want to be like everyone else because I've always known that I'm not like everyone else.

When I moved to Chicago 14 years ago this very month, I thought that I was supposed to be a successful business woman, even though anything related to business bored me to tears. I was a receptionist, then an administrative assistant, then an event planner, then a commissions associate. None of those titles thrilled me or felt at all natural for me, but I conjured a fair amount of enthusiasm and gave each role my very best.

I finally switched careers four years ago to do something that lit my insides on fire and made me excited to go to work. And while I still absolutely love what I do, I learned early on that the environment is all wrong for me. A busy, loud, crowded commercial gym is the exact opposite of what is considered an ideal environment for an introvert. But, as with everything I have ever done, I have always given my best, fully knowing that my best in the wrong environment will never be good enough.

I need to stop beating myself up about not fitting in, because I'm holding myself back by doing so. I need to look forward and press on, thankful that I have the ability to do my job differently. I do have the possibility to fulfill my potential and become financially free. It's time. I can't waste any more time bemoaning my current situation when a fulfilling and financially free future awaits.

Sorry Not Sorry

Until I uncovered all of the intricacies of introversion, I spent most of my life desperately trying to be someone I'm not by trying to mold myself into someone I was never meant to be: an extrovert. I've spent a lot of time feeling guilty and ashamed for the temperament I was born with prior to discovering that I was in fact, born with it.

As a kid, for example, I felt guilty for never wanting to have sleepovers at my house, because another person in my bedroom -my childhood sanctuary- seemed like a major invasion of my private world, where I often spent time drawing, writing, practicing make-up and hairstyles, or playing with my Barbie dolls. 

In middle school I was often reprimanded by most teachers in most classes for making "careless mistakes." Little did they know - little did I know! - that one of the qualities of being an introvert is that our brains are slower at processing new concepts. I often needed more time during a test to thoroughly process test questions, or I needed more time to learn a math concept, for example. Instead, I rushed through tests so I'd never be the last to finish, and therefore be thought of as "stupid." But having a difficult time understanding new concepts made me feel stupid anyway, and I never asked questions because I didn't want to be guilty for holding the class back if I was the only student who couldn't understand something. 

In high school, I felt guilty for wanting to stay in by myself on most weekend nights to order pizza and watch John Hughes movies on VHS when all my friends and classmates were at parties or on dates. I also felt inadequate because I could only handle one or two extracurricular activities at a time since I was already so exhausted from being around people during the school day. Time spent doing anything more would've further eclipsed my treasured alone time. 

As an adult, I've felt guilty in romantic relationships for craving copious amounts of alone time. I've felt guilty for turning down invites from friends a few too many times simply because I had already reached my threshold for people during the work week. 

Most recently, I have felt guilty in my career for getting "peopled out" so easily. The point of my job is to help people -ideally as many as possible!- and yet I usually can't find it within myself to go the extra mile on most days.

So is the coworker who has boundless energy to disperse to not only his clients, but also the other members of the gym better than I am at my job? I have the education, I have the confidence, I have the experience, yet at the end of most days I feel like I failed because even though I came across hundreds of people that day, I didn't talk to anyone except my clients and coworkers.

We are always being encouraged at work to "smile and chat with members" when we are not training a client, but I find it necessary to conserve my energy for my clients. Extroverts are coveted by management at my gym. Social butterflies are favored for making themselves known to everyone. But for me, sometimes I just can't bring myself to force a smile or muster a hello. Not that I don't ever do this. I do it as much as I possibly can before my internal battery dies. I give the gym all of my energy so that nothing is left when I leave at night. I have no friends and no social life because I give all of myself at work. Otherwise, guilt would overwhelm me.

A client recently shared that I seemed a bit off during a prior session. I recalled that I usually train him during a quiet hour at the gym, and the session he was referring to just happened to be a time when the gym was exceptionally busy. I do not enjoy training my clients when the gym is loud and crowded, but I dig deep to do whatever it takes to make the most of it. My senses are overloaded and I find it hard to focus, and I have to raise my voice to be heard over the chaos, all of which drains me as quickly as an iPhone with too many apps running simultaneously.

Even though I understood why I must have seemed off, I felt guilty about it. Introverts are overstimulated easily, and I can't simply tune out the activity going on around me. But until my client mentioned something, I thought for sure I was fooling everyone.

That brings me to my next point. Why should I feel so damn guilty for being who I am and responding to the world the way I respond to it? Why do I feel so guilty admitting that, despite loving my job, the environment in which I do my job is unsatisfactory? Essentially, why do I feel so guilty for not being an extrovert?

If I'm not churning out over 100 personal training sessions a month, it's because the more sessions I do, the less valuable they will be. I'll never be exceptionally ambitious or be able to take on too much because doing so would be too taxing for my temperament and therefore would never make me happy, so what's the fucking point of doing what I love in that case?

But how could I ever explain this to my manager without sounding slightly ridiculous in a world that deeply favors extroverts? Personally, I will only ever be successful if I focus on quality over quantity. Unfortunately, that's not gonna fly at my place of employment.

So, I have this crazy idea that if I become an independent trainer, then things will be different. If I work in a studio exclusive to personal trainers and their clients, then I will be in the calmer environment I crave so much. The quality of service that I'd be able to provide to my clients simply by changing my environment will be so much richer. And I won't ever again be told to smile and chat with members when the thought of a forced smile and small talk instinctively make me snarl.

When I worked in an office for ten years I was isolated for most of the day, and the past four years I have thrown myself into a completely contrasting environment. I'll admit that I had trouble communicating with people before I became a trainer, so even though I'm now totally overwhelmed by people on most days, I'm tremendously thankful I've had plenty of practice and experience interacting with a variety of personalities.

Everything in my being is craving some serious balance, which I have not yet been able to achieve my entire adult life. I already enjoy my work, but I need to do it differently for the sake of my sanity. I'd like to maybe not feel too drained all the time and have the occasional social interaction outside of work. That's not a lot to ask, and I won't apologize for going after what I want.

If at First You Don't Succeed

During a training session recently, a client was telling me about his 11 year old son who is in the process of trying out for a hockey team. Apparently, the son tried out for the team last year and didn't make it, so he's been working out and practicing extra hard to ensure a better chance of making the cut this year. My client noted that not making the team last year was a great character building experience for him, as well as a lesson in the value of hard work.

I instantly thought of a similar experience from my own childhood. I was in 7th grade when I decided to try out for cheerleading. My best friends were cheerleaders and I had always been involved in dance classes and gymnastics, so cheerleading was especially appealing to me.

I went to the practices, learned the cheers, and moderately recited them in my own time. I wasn't really sure what to expect, and it turned out I had no idea. I didn't know, for instance, that wearing your hair off your face for tryouts was mandatory. Incidentally, I had arrived with my hair down. My friends freaked out on my behalf, which prompted my Mom to scramble for ideas. Not a hair elastic in sight, my Mom ended up improvising with a small leather strap from my brother's baseball glove found in the trunk of the car.

Anyway, I tried out for the squad and did not make it. The limited time I had spent practicing on my own and my unpreparedness had cost me a spot on the squad. An overly emotional tween at that time, an expected torrential downpour of tears were shed.

But that experience in defeat did not reduce my desire to become a cheerleader. I did not blame the judges for being unfair. I didn't accuse any of the other girls of cheating. I knew in my heart of hearts that I did not practice enough. I knew that I was not as prepared as I should have been that day.

The next year in 8th grade I tried out for the high school squad. I had practiced relentlessly, and I showed up to tryouts with my hair fixed in the most important pony tail of my life.

Armed with confidence and enough enthusiasm to supply an entire cheer squad, I was going in prepared. As a result, I made the team. My hard work and relentless drive had paid off.

The thing about trying new things as a kid is that there are no risks involved. If I hadn't made the team, then life would go on and I was comfortably aware of that fact. I'd be devastated if I wasn't selected a second time, of course, but never once did I stew on the possibility of how my life would be affected if I had failed.

We are so much less hesitant as kids to go after what we want because there's so much opportunity for us to try new things and absolutely no repercussions if one or several things do not work out.

As an adult, however, the fear of failure often paralyzes us and prevents us from trying new things too often. There are real consequences if things don't work out, usually because the stakes are higher regarding the choices we make as adults. Careers, relationships, cross-country moves, investments, etc. involve a lot of risk.

Knowing full well we could never be as prepared for big life changes as much as we can prepare for cheerleading tryouts, we do our best to learn the information available to us regarding our options, then say "fuck it" and just go for it. We eventually choose to risk everything knowing we may get nothing except a good dose of character building and lesson learning.

But despite risk, we learn throughout life that making a leap is exactly how we evolve and become better individuals.

As an introvert, I'm a big fan of looking before I leap. And I usually take a long time to look. Too long. But moving forward is important for improving the quality of life regardless of the outcome, and I only know this from experience. As scary as change is, it's time again to fix my hair into an important ponytail and take a leap.