Jackson Free Press

Two months ago I walked out of a job I had for about five years. I loved it, but thought I was no longer able to truly perform my duties as effectively as I had in the past. Other things in my life had taken on more importance—this tiny little column, for one. I decided I'd had enough of reaching for the American dream and wanted to chase my own. I resigned in a fit of exasperation and leapt headlong into an idea I held about being a writer. I didn't know if this was the right thing to do with regard to my total life plan, but I did know that it was the right thing for me at the time.

The day I left my former employment, all my co-workers got together and fed me chocolate cake, fried chicken and best wishes. Just as I was about to leave, one of the women handed me a card that contained a magnet with the face of a 1950s Stepford Wife. There was one statement on the magnet. "Ever notice how 'What The Hell' is always the right decision?" It was the first time I felt like someone got it—this intense need I felt to "screw it" and jump off the nearest cliff.

The day after I left work for the last time, I painted my normally nude toenails a bright shade of red and decided to be a writer without really knowing or understanding what that meant. I saw it as an elusive dream—one wrapped in intrigue, whiskey and eccentricity. As with most things in my life, I can romanticize almost anything. I held onto the idea of the dream with no knowledge of the work.

The other night I was having a conversation with a friend regarding bad decisions and a few things in our lives we wish we had more thoroughly examined before jumping head first into life-altering choices. We talked about being the sort of people for whom leaping felt like a more natural threat than "sitting still and waiting."

I leap. I rarely look. I'll explain it this way: I usually have a committee meeting before I make large decisions in my life. You know, the kind of committee meeting where I sit down and give a chance to all the voices in my head to give their version of the story and their decisions regarding where and what I should be doing with my life.

Unfortunately for me, the "screw it" committee members seem to win most of these discussions.

Cut my hair and dye it white? "Screw it. Go for it!"

Buy those green platform sandals while unemployed? "Screw it."

Quit a professional job at which I've excelled for five years? "Screw it."

I always seem to have a quorum of "screw its." In fact, the "screw its" get louder as I get older. The nice, older rational committee members seem to have grown tired of fighting the "Screw its," and more frequently submit to drunken demands of leaping and not looking.

So, I did. I screwed it. I quit my job. I painted my toenails red for two months and danced to different music. I buried my head in the sand looking for the light. I lolled about on the couch and watched daytime television. I cried at Kodak commercials and ate lots of ice cream. At the end, I was left more with the memory of leaping than the landing for which I had so desperately been searching. I felt abandoned by my dream. Where was it? I was left to loll by the "screw its" who had no other plan for me other than to fall. I became angry and didn't write for weeks. How dare my dream desert me in my moment of need? I became bitter. I cried, stomped my feet and acted like a child. I decided that I had absolutely no idea how to do this thing called "chasing your dreams" and that I'd had enough of it. It took me a long time to realize that I had done no chasing—simply lots of sitting with my hands held open waiting for drops of dreams to fall into them.

Last night, after spending time with friends, I was driving down the interstate listening to the radio when Richard Marx's "Should've Known Better" came on. I rolled the windows down and began singing. Granted, it's a horrible song that reminds me of adolescent junior high dances where I felt just as uncomfortable in my nude pantyhose as I do in my current route in life. But something shifted. I don't know if the "screw its" became quiet, or if I finally shushed them knowing they were simply my way of not growing up. The "screw its," though, ultimately the initial route to the dream, were not the ones that were going to help bolster the day-to-day operations.

Maybe after two months of falling, I've only just begun to find my landing. Maybe it's not being a writer I'm chasing. Maybe it's the satisfaction I get from not being scared to try and possibly failing. I think that's the main fear in all of us. It's not the chasing we are frightened of; its falling and failing before we catch whatever it is that we are looking for. Besides—let's be realistic here—if Richard Marx can be a wildly popular pop singer, I can be a writer.

Maybe I'll write a book, learn to knit or teach myself a new language. Maybe I'll learn all sorts of new things—about myself, the "screw its" and the world. Maybe I'll let go and grow up. Maybe one day I'll finally realize that it's just the fear of not being able to say "screw it" that leads to stagnation. Maybe one day we'll all realize there are unfulfilled parts of us that yearn to finally let go and let loose...to jump and see where they land.

That's a lot of maybes. But what the hell? A wise woman once told me "What The Hell" is always the right decision.

Previous Comments

ID

73490

Comment

Ali, this is a very good column. I hope this is a rite of passage, a moving on, epiphany, or epilogue of a past life for you. Once you move on, you should make every effort to not BACK UP, assuming you studied and calculated your move in the first place. It's alright to look back but you can do that without backing up. Mr. right, glory, fame, happiness, and PEACE could be just around the corner, but you won't know it if you're paralyzed by fear and worry. The road you're travelling isn't as lonely or barren as it may appear. Countless successful people have taken the same route. You should read more books such as Think and Grow Rich, Making It Against the Odds, WHy Should White Boys Have all the Fun, and many more for encouragement. These books are written by black folks who dared to succeed, but there are countless ones written by white people, too, with the same glowing messages. Actually, there is a white and black version of Think and Grow Rich. Good luck. Some of us missed you, but I'm not claiming I did. Smile. Good writers are crazy anyway. Can I get some Amens on that? This is why I don't really ever want to be too good at it. This is still a good column regardless of how many responses or comments you get about it. Just as all the others ones were. Sho' nuff.

Author

Ray Carter

Date

2006-09-15T11:31:38-06:00

ID

73491

Comment

I know you didn't miss me, Ray. You are WAY too tough for that. :) I actually got an email from a woman yesterday saying she read the column and freaked out...she was at the last day of her "real" job and had just quit to write. She had painted her toenails red the day before. I'd like to think there's always ONE person out there that needed to hear some of my blathering. But, I'm back now...and you should see me every two weeks. Cue the theme from "The Jeffersons" Fish don't fry in the kitchen, Beans don't burn on the grill. Took a whole lotta tryin' Just to get up that hill. Now we're up in the big leagues, Gettin' our turn at bat! As long as we live, It's you and me, baby! There ain't nothin' wrong with that! Hooray, We're Movin' on Up! Movin' on Up! To the east side! Movin' on Up! Now that song will be in my head ALL DAY LONG.

Author

Lori G

Date

2006-09-15T12:18:23-06:00

ID

73492

Comment

Thanks for those lyrics, Ali. I have always mumbed through about half of that, and I've always wanted to be able to sing it. So now I can REALLY sing that mutha. Since I sing like a loud, drunken, Stephen Hawking, that's bad news for everyone but me. Also, very nice article. I don't think you need any words of wisdom from me, but I'll just say that no matter what you do from here on out, I think it's good to have just taken the step. Success is capricious, and as such never really a good measure of choices. If you achieve it, then wonderful. If not, then that's o.k. too What matters is just why you choose, and what that means to you. At least that's what I like to tell myself as I wallow in the mire of my own failed existence. (Just kidding).

Author

GLB

Date

2006-09-20T13:14:14-06:00