Truth Be Told

Remembering Honesty, Risks and All

Original image credit to Steve Johnson

My Dear Misfit Friends and Puzzle Pieces,

I have rewritten this letter three times, and for the first time, each version of it looked completely different than the last. Originally, I wanted to write something uplifting. Something that shows I’ve got a handle on things. What things? All the things. Obviously. So I delved into my recent gardening hobby, how it helped clear my head of bees, yahta yahta yahta. I read the draft and scrapped it.

Then I changed gears and described the peace and calm of rain. It had a more poetic feel. I actually found it quite beautiful and kept the draft. Maybe I’ll post it later. After all, this letter’s a bit late. Still, I set it aside. None of these felt…honest. One of my favorite attributes of Taylor Swift is she always writes as honestly as possible, sometimes worrying it’s too honest. Like in her song “Mirrorball”:

I’m still a believer

But I don’t know why

I’ve never been a natural

All I do is try try try.

Or her explorations of what other people’s version of honesty looks like in “This is Me Trying”:

I was so ahead of the curve

The curve became a sphere

Fell behind all my classmates

And I ended up here

Poured my heart out to a stranger

But I didn’t pour the whiskey

I just wanted you to know

This is me trying

For full thought details concerning the songs on her Folklore album, I highly recommend the Taylor Swift Folklore Long Pond Studio Sessions music documentary on Disney Plus.

Truth be told, it’s difficult writing with such transparency because opening oneself to the criticism of strangers is the risk that comes with it. Remember the one, I tell myself. If one person feels encouraged to keep going, keep putting one foot in front of the other, keep trying, keep looking for the beautiful, then I consider it all worth it. The Earth wouldn’t be able to contain all the written accounts of everything Jesus said and did…and everything I don’t know. Here is where faith is involved because I don’t know when and how people are affected. I just write.

Truth be told, there have been so many tears. Tears and questions and research and more tears. Every time an idea strikes, I open another tab on my internet browser. Where do I fit? becomes Why don’t I fit? once more, and I’m left with discouragement and a migraine. I’m not looking for perfection by any means. I’m looking for doable and tolerable for long periods of time at the pay rate I need to support myself. I do this because the majority of positions I'm strongly drawn to require years of experience and training I don't possess. But, the more I think about it, the more I shrivel up inside at the thought of spending eight hours every day, five consecutive days a week, performing tasks that don’t really life me or anyone else only to have two days off that will inevitably be filled with must-dos like laundry and cleaning to the point where everything I have to do saps all my energy and I never end up doing what I really want, like reading, writing, painting, and leaving the house to do something fun with my sisters or friends. I know I broke so many grammar rules with these run-on sentences, so I ask for forgiveness. Full stops just don’t convey emotion as well.

Apparently living this way is normal…? At least for people my age. But I don’t want it. I don’t want to have anything to do with burnout culture, but I don’t know how to avoid it. So many businesses pride themselves being fast-paced because American culture has turned this into a synonym of “productive” and “pleasurable work environment”, as if moving so fast your day becomes a blur and memory fails equates to “a good time” (Come work for us! You’ll love it!). Sounds like a hangover in the making to me.

But I keep searching anyway. I keep submitting cover letters and resumes. Because I have to. And because I don’t know what else to do. But part of me thinks they’ve caught on. The collective “they” who run all the businesses; I think they’re on to me. I think they can tell my heart’s not in it before I do, even when I believe it is. Even when I’m hopeful for an interview (I’m always hopeful for an interview). I’m not lost, just aimless. I know where I am, just not where to go from here.

Truth be told, this is me as I am right now. As much as I’d like to say how navigating life has been smooth sailing and aren’t I the paragon of handling young adult living?... it wouldn’t be the truth. And telling myself to ‘suck it up’ hasn’t made anything better. It’s a lonely place to be, pretending to want what others have because it’s culturally normal. But, the thing is, I know I’m not the only one. So if this is you, be encouraged, friend. You are not alone in feeling like a mismatched puzzle piece. There are four other people (including myself) that I’ve met who are currently finding the transition phase more difficult than most. Or perhaps ‘most’ is an overgeneralization. I don’t know. All I know is what I see and the advice people give me. Perhaps this ‘most’ I speak of is evidence that some people are better at being in-denial than others. Or maybe they just don’t care. That’s always possible.

My dear friends, just keep putting one foot in front of the other. We’ll figure it out. We’ve come this far, haven’t we? In the meantime, don’t forget to breathe, a good cry does wonders; maybe pick up gardening or listen to the rain fall. Tell about it. All of it. And, as always,

Stay Curious,

Olivia

P.S. I think I’m British at heart. There’s an empty circle of gravel and flat stones in my backyard, and my first thought is to buy a bistro set and invite people to afternoon tea.