My most distinguishing characteristic is that I never seem to stick. I’ve drifted through jobs, cities and relationships with only the briefest sense of commitment (but with plenty of anxiety). And through all the years, I’ve imagined that I would find the one great big fulfilling thing that would give my life structure and meaning.
Several years ago, I lived in Alaska, where I worked at the public broadcasting station and hosted a weekly radio show called Trashville. The format of the show was me reading a script and playing music that either related to the theme lyrically, or set the mood, like a soundtrack. I loved music, but never committed to learning to play an instrument. What I really wanted to do was sing, but had no talent for that. I did have some ability to write, though, so I wrote scripts for this show and they more or less amused me. I was on late on Sunday nights, after This American Life. I received few calls, other than from creepy cab drivers, and played all the characters myself. Someone once called just to say that I had the worst fake Southern accent he’d ever heard.
It was fun. Kind of. There were a few times when my name was recognized by random people in town and I felt like a minor celebrity. I entertained the idea of improving the production value of the show and trying to get it syndicated. Several people told me they wanted to work on it, but when the time came to actually do the show, they all wanted to stay home and be warm on Sunday nights. So after a while, I just faded out of it. I resented having a weekly obligation to host a show, just like I used to resent having to go to school, or have a job. Or call a family member.
This is just one item on a list of things I’ve almost done with my life. The truth is, the mental activity of always figuring out what I should be doing with my life is what I’m doing with my life. And when I ask myself what I should be doing, what I’m really asking is, “who will I be?” Will I be a quirky radio host? A quiet but witty playwright, always elegantly dressed and probably sipping something boozy? Or should I accept my need for financial stability and embrace the idea of being a business woman? This, of course, would entail the purchase of several business-like accessories.
At times I get all mystical and imagine myself as a pastor, or a nun. I put hours of work into researching what I would have to do to get the training and credentials, and how admirable it would be for me to volunteer in soup kitchens. I could single-handedly revolutionize the Catholic church by being brazenly feminist yet traditionally devout. I would start a group, I would be a leader, I would write books and schedule speaking engagements.
The problem, or course, is that none of this is real. These fantasies of who I might be end with me still sitting at the computer, having accomplished nothing of substance. It’s a little like when you dream that you’ve woken up and taken a shower, and then you really wake up and realize that you overslept.