After a year-long hiatus, I’ve decided to start a new series, documenting my attempts at navigating adulthood. These short essays are snapshots of my mind at the cross roads, fleeting moments of fear intersecting with bright bursts of clarity. Never a fan of clichés, I’m consciously stepping away from answering the Big Life questions. Instead, I document these tiny thoughts and stories, with the hope that, looking back one day, the they reveal the orbit of personal growth. Secretly, I imagine that orbit to be there all long, like driftless elementary particles meeting each other mid-space and…voila! A perfectly formed planet.
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During a client meeting today, the question was raised on whether I, as a junior staff, could attend a strategic workshop with their senior management.
“Well, sure, I suppose,” the client said. She paused and looked directly into my eyes, “I wouldn’t know what Kathy’s skills are.”
An awkward silence engulfed the room.
My boss smiled apologetically, “it’s a good learning opportunity for her.” She quickly looked to the clock, “let’s move on to the next item.”
This little episode stayed with me throughout the afternoon and into the evening. There was a Quarter Life Crisis trigger button somewhere in my brain, and it had just been pushed.
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What are my skills? Now that my generation has largely abhorred traditional degrees like engineering, what do we have to sell? More importantly, what do we have to show for the long days and evenings of working like a dog through internships, fellowships, pro-bono consulting, and past jobs?
My first job out of college was in the public sector. The first 6 months were a collage of feelings of incompetency, desperation, idealism, and confusion.
Things got better afterwards. I ploughed through a slew of projects, created decks and decks of slides, and was a master jack of all trades. By year 2, I had gained credibility and could hold my head up high in meetings. That, I thought naively, translated to skills.
A decision was made. I resigned and planned to move to greater things. After all, I had skills now.
I will be hitting the 6 month mark at my current flashy corporate job soon, but that collage of feelings from before had returned with a vengeance. I felt naked in a world where people were rattling frameworks and methodologies off their tongue.
What was I trying to prove?
—
It wasn’t the woman from the meeting I had to prove something to. It was myself.
I had spent a good part of the last ten years soaking up knowledge, expecting a fully-formed professional armed with Skills to materialise. If I were an oyster, when is the pearl going to form?
Time for a re-evaluation, perhaps.
—
Our most radical changes in perspective often happen at the tail end of our worst moments.
“Read this,” said a friend, sending a screenshot of the book she’s currently reading, “it’s life-changing.”
But my life had already started to change. My perspectives were rumbling like mantle before an earthquake, ready for its long-awaited overhaul.
Musings of a Leaf 