I Don't Know What to Do With My Hands/Life

I stumbled into a career in strategic communications the same way many believe Michael Cera stumbled into stardom. He absolutely did not belong, was too polite to bow out and ended up not being half bad at it, so fuck it might as well keep this trip up, right? I entered college as an art major with a focus on digital design, convinced I could make the next Call of Duty because my buddies and I were hella good back in the day so clearly the skills would translate. After realizing that artistic ability was needed to succeed in, uh, art, I pivoted to a more intrinsic artistic endeavor as an English-Literature student at 21. Apparently the thought of guzzling whisky while devouring as much Poe, Hemingway, Steinbeck and Vonnegut as I could handle sounded like the ideal life for this Southern California native.

After a metric-fuckton of studying that barely crossed into the B average threshold, I once again pivoted. With only 2 years left in school and a litany of minor classes under my belt, I made the same decision any 22 year old going into what is surely going to be the first of two senior years would: I traded my English-Literature major for my Strategic Communications minor, saving the time and stress of selecting yet another career path!

I stuck it out in strategic communications, eventually landing an internship during my first senior year that I kept until long after graduation. I was finally hired full time at the big-time marketing firm I had interned at so tirelessly 2 and a half months after graduation, just two days before me 23rd birthday actually. That’s it right? The dream? Graduate college, get that salaried job with all the beni's, fancy biz card with my name and title, bright office where I had my own desk and my own space. Shit, I even paid off my car. I checked off every box on the “young college graduate success” sheet that I was given at graduation (y'all got one too right?).

Time for a twist ending; I was (am) lost. Suck it Shyamalan, you're an imbecile.

I spent the past five years preparing myself for a life I had been told over and over and over and over again that I wanted, the life we should all strive to have, and I was well on my way towards that. The secure office job that provides financial stability, a professional appearance (I ditched this with meta-human quickness), a decent car that fits my needs, a social circle that keeps out of trouble and sensible, almost adult-like hobbies (got bored with these too) that helped make me into a grown man. I never once stopped, or at least not until it was far too late, to think about what I wanted. Where do I want my life to go? What do I give a shit about? What the fuck do I want to do? I have a very slight clue.

For the longest time this destroyed my brain, coated me in an adamantium casing that left me motionless but aware that I wasn’t moving despite any effort to simply wiggle. For starters, how could I have gone through all this schooling, studied so much, learned so much yet still found no semblance of a plan or direction for myself? Insert cliche about comparing myself to those around me instead of just doing me. That was easy to come to terms with.

With that in mind, I revisited the other eloquent questions I had been asking myself, what do I give a shit about and what the fuck do I want to do. Instead of having another lovecraftian monkey on my back while I attempt to solve the issue in circulatory fashion, it hit me that this test I was racing to finish wasn’t timed. Ms. Woelke (shout out 10th and 12th grade English!) wasn't going to abruptly state “time’s up” as I was feverishly completing my thought. I have time; time to think this out, to visit other options, to fail, to make the wrong decisions and be humble enough to recognize those shortcomings.

What do I want to do with my life? I’ve got a grasp on what I don’t want to do. Where do I want to go? Taco Bell at the moment, the double-decker crunchwrap is back and I accidentally did a push-up the other day so deserve a treat.

All I can focus on is right now, and right now I love comics, Star Wars, hockey, emotional music, futile attempts at humor, and writing.

Welcome to Connor’s Shinfo Corner.

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