Hurried growth for me is difficult to maintain and handle, whether it is personal or professional. It comes with more frequent setbacks and I think the positive outlook, along with patience, has allowed me to not feel defeated. I’m still a mess at time, but I’m starting to believe that my “mess” is actually organized chaos. I’m happy with the tasks that I have and when I’m unable to take time to reflect, I have a much different view.
That main paradox is that I feel both deeply connected, but also immensely isolated and lonely. The isolated and lonely piece is almost fully wrapped up in being a group practice owner and entrepreneur (I hate that word, but it’s accurate). At the exact same time, I’m more connected to legitimately amazing people than I ever have been in my life. This year has been un-freaking-believable with the amount of brilliant people I’ve met and developed relationships with.
Seriously.
I love reflecting. More than that, I love hearing others reflect. It’s kind of like “story time”. I have worked with kids for the vast majority of my life, so imagine the amount of stories I listen to. Listening to my own story, told by myself, is a bit of a challenge. We are our own worst critic. Nobody knows me better than I do. So, reflecting on myself has taken me a little while to put to words. There’s just so much!
Reflection can be a helpful tool when thinking about what you want to change in the coming year. It can also allow you to see how far you’ve come. Reflecting on my last year, it wasn’t a terrible year, but it also wasn’t full of glitter and rainbows. This year was definitely full of self-improvement through higher-education, trying to manage a new career, and being a parent.
I don't even know if that's a term or not, but it makes sense in my head.
Here's what I meant by existential drift - it's that moment in time when you're thinking about the meaning of life, or why you're here, or what's your purpose, or what's it all mean, and then you shift from curiosity and awe into despair, angst, and terror. It's that reeeeally slow shift; that gradual slope that you don't catch until you're speeding down the slide into the deep, dark recesses of your existentially-terrified mind.
