Unfinished Business

“Why Are You Running Away?”

I’m not running from anything; I’m running towards something. This realization hits me as I break the news to my father that I’ve purchased a one-way ticket to India and will likely be back in six months.

When I decided to pursue Life Coaching three years ago, I felt excited that I was finding more meaning in my life. I had been carrying this terrible gnawing feeling that I had not much value to offer the world, unsure of my truth, unsure of myself. This newfound career path was it! I liked it, it helped me, so voila – problems were solved.

Except, I haven’t been able to sit still. There’s been one more trip, one more class, one more experience until I’m fully self-realized and accomplished.

Accomplished. What’s that even mean? You can take the girl out of corporate…

Those gnawing feelings of unworthiness did not dissolve in India, or Bali or Costa Rica, not with ayahuasca, not with endless coaching sessions, astrology readings…

What’s it gonna take?

I come home from my travels and am smacked in the face with these feelings I most certainly was running from. “I have nothing to offer, no one chooses me. How can I help anyone else when I can’t seem to help myself? I think I’m full of shit.”

And I don’t know what to do about it. I want a finished product. Certainty. I want to be seen as a beacon of light, a mirage of confidence, coolness and success.

In my endless scouring of self-help and spiritual tools for the past many years, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to enjoy a story without looking for meaning. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to enjoy most things without looking for a lesson or some deeper spiritual insight as to what I’m supposed to do or how to handle life. I’ve burnt myself out. “I think I need to do nothing.”

NO more self-help books! I grab a cute romance from the local bookstore and pick up my friend and teacher, Sherry Sidoti’s memoir “A Smoke and A Song.”

And without looking for help, I find it. Reading Sherry’s memoir reminds me of the beauty of what it means to live a life. Our wounds, our wonders, our adventures. It’s all part of the package.

One line in particular strikes a chord with my wallowing imposter syndrome: “We teach what we need to learn.”

It’s such a simple line, but it dawns on me. Oh right, I think. How can I teach something if I don’t understand it? If I haven’t lived some degree of it? These are my lessons.

And life itself, is always unfinished business.