Am I fulfilled or am I “fine”?
Do I feel alive, or is this simply manageable, controllable, and pretty OK?
Is this something that lights me up, or is something … missing or off?
It’s one thing to get clear on what it is you do want, but I won’t lie to you. The moments when I get equally honest with myself about what it is I don’t want have been truly shitty. Because for a while, it was exactly what I thought I wanted. Or maybe it genuinely was right for me for a time ... but things change. Or maybe I wasn’t ready to admit I had made a safe choice rather than one that made me feel whole or truly fulfilled.
Then the light bulb comes on.
“This is wrong.”
Then the guilt sets in. There’s nothing wrong with that person, that job, that place, that idea. On paper, it should work. On paper, this should be great. On paper, you should be all in. But in the real world, in your heart, in your soul … it doesn’t work. It isn’t great. You’re not all in.
For example, I’ve had jobs where the work was incredibly fulfilling, but there was a serious company culture problem that couldn't be overcome. I’ve also had jobs where the people were great. I felt valued and heard, but there were something about the work that was lacking. That part of me that craves purpose through my work felt forever starved.
The same holds true for relationships. He’s great. He’s wonderful. Everybody tells me how awesome he is. He’s kind to me. He supports me. I could see a very safe and secure future with him. Logic says I should be happy. So, I’ll stick around. I’ll try to make it work. But deep down, I don’t feel what I should be feeling. That lightning feeling is absent.
On the one hand, it sucks to hurt people. It sucks to let people down. On the other hand, you don’t need to criminalize your desire to want more for yourself. You wanting more isn’t an indictment of that opportunity, that person, that place.
You’re not a bad person for being honest about what you don’t want. No two individuals define true fulfillment in the exact same way.
To use myself as an example, I’ve come to the realization recently that, in my personal life, I need to feel alive. Now, when I say that, I don’t mean the adrenaline junkie type of “alive” where I act recklessly or willfully choose romantic instability to get a rush. I’m a sappy, sentimental, long-haul kind of gal in the romance department because … well, we will not discuss the number of times I watched Sleepless in Seattle growing up.
(The Affair to Remember vs. Dirty Dozen scene remains iconic.)
But in love, much like my work, I put my whole self into it. So, if I’m going to pour all of my energy and heart into something or someone, the ROI on that energetic investment had better not be a “this is fine” or “but my friend says he’s nice.” I need to be lit the fuck up.
Because when that fire is there … well, we talked about it last week. When it’s right, it makes the emotional investments, the compromises, the risks, and the hard times all worth it. There is a greater purpose, a greater love, a greater commitment behind it. I don't need to go to war with myself every time something goes wrong, because I'm already all in. My soul is already committed.
Do I need to feel alive about everything in my life?
No. In fact, as bossy and stubborn as I am, I am hilariously ambivalent and willing to follow the lead on lots of things.
Like, if you really want pizza one night, and I’m jonesing for mozzarella sticks, I’m not going to flip a table and scream, “I NEED TO FEEL ALIVE! AND THAT IS ONLY POSSIBLE THROUGH THE CONSUMPTION OF MEDIOCRE AMERICANA FARE AT THE CLOSEST APPLEBEE’S.”
Anyway, my point is that you’re allowed to define your own metrics of success and happiness and fulfillment on your own terms. Yes, these realizations can result in broken promises, broken expectations, and broken hearts. Yes, you will feel like shit in some cases, because I don’t think anyone feels great when they’re the one saying, “We need to talk.”
But remember, when you realize that something or someone or somewhere isn’t right for you, that also means you’re not right for them. Sure, disappointment sucks, but you’re not doing anyone any favors by “sticking it out.” You’re just allowing everyone to settle, because you didn’t want to have a tough conversation. No one is winning. You can be sorry for creating a momentary inflection point of pain without demanding that you also be sorry for doing what is right for you.
There is good news, though. The sun will rise tomorrow. People get over it. We all move on. That company will backfill your role. There are also like 1,273,046 songs out there that prove yes, you will find love again.
But we need to stop believing that something must be a catastrophically broken, toxic, or otherwise destructive force in our lives in order to consider it not right for us. Yes, there is a fine line between “This is not right for me,” and “I’m a pathologically avoidant escape artist who is convinced the grass is greener in every other yard that borders my own.” But I’m not talking to you “grass is greener” folks. I’m talking to the rest of you.
You’re allowed to dream. You’re allowed to desire. You’re allowed to want more. It’s hard because it’s easy. Keep going.
