There is that haunting moment in ‘Girl, Interrupted’ where Lisa mocks Daisy’s new house and tells her she has just switched one cage for another. I was terrified that I would do that when I left university: fling myself into a new crutch.
I read a lot. Two months into 2017 and I have read around 40 books so far. There was a point…
“You do not need to quit your job, go on a silent meditation retreat or move countries to feel better. However rough you feel, however hard life is, try incorporating one of these each day. Most only take a few minutes and your mind will thank you for it.”
My peers threw chairs at me, spat on my exercise books, tore up my work and called me names. Some of the cutest nicknames included ‘hipster bitch’, ‘whore bag’ and ‘dustbin.’ There is a child like me in every class. You might have lived that too.
This might be a surprise, but research shows that the main predictor of job satisfaction is the length of time someone has spent working a particular job. Not their initial passion for it.
Meandering career paths. Confused life choices. Reckless changes. Living without clear goals or plans. Wasted hours, chewed nails, panicky phone calls. Dropping out, quitting, breaking up. Let’s celebrate not having a clue, a 10-year plan or a trajectory.
Reading is a form of training for living.
“It is not the number of positive experiences that dictate our enjoyment of life. It is the intensity with which we pay attention to them that matters.”
I still feel the pain. Every damn day. The only difference is that I no longer suffer.
Dropping out is not as big a deal as the stigma surrounding it suggests.