How did I get here?

I’m sure I speak on behalf of many when I say that 2020 hasn’t gone quite as I expected — even putting the matter of a global pandemic to one side, if I may, I have found it a lot to take in.

For context, 2019 was a big year for me, in the best possible ways: I finally finished a distance learning degree which had been some years in the making, and graduated with a 2:1; at roughly the same time, I finalised the sale of the speciality coffee shop I had owned and operated for four years, after eleven long months on the market; I got a great job with a vegan food company whose mission I wholeheartedly believed in and felt proud to represent; and, for the first time in my life, I was in a healthy, reciprocal relationship that wasn’t just an elaborate exercise in self-flagellation.

After a series of false starts and minor mishaps, it felt as though my life was finally heading in the right direction, and I was pretty content.

But by mid-February, the last two items on this list had ceased to be true, and this all happened in a matter of days. My relationship broke down the weekend after Valentine’s Day — officially I think it was the Saturday — and the following Wednesday I was herded into a rented office space and abruptly dismissed from my job. I’m not going to go into the whys and wherefores of either event in this piece, that isn’t what I’m here to do, but suffice it to say that having both happen in such swift succession is not something I would recommend.

“After a series of false starts and minor mishaps, it felt as though my life was finally heading in the right direction.”

I very quickly, perhaps too quickly, began applying for other jobs. I had some successful interviews, and some not-so-successful interviews. I even managed to secure a relatively well-paid job in the financial services sector, and had a start date and everything. But then, of course, COVID-19 came along and turned everything upside down and, while I realise that this is no great tragedy in the grand scheme of things, it very much put the brakes on my job seeking efforts.

So, unlike most people I know, I was neither on furlough nor working from home — I was just plain unemployed. I don’t like being unemployed (I mean, who does?) but, for me, being unemployed isn’t merely about the monetary implications, but the loss of identity and purpose that goes with it. The further we went into lockdown, the less clear I became on either. There was really no possibility of me relaxing, or enjoying the slower pace of life that so many seemed to be extolling. I was in full-blown existential crisis territory, and it was uncomfortable.

But as I’ve read in god knows how many self-help and smart thinking books, sometimes a certain amount of discomfort is needed for us to grow in life. And so with no real work to do and nowhere to go other than my front garden, I was forced to ask myself the following questions: what do I actually want to do, and what am I good at?

The answers that came back weren’t anything new or surprising. But in this new context, where so many of us are weighing things up and taking a fresh look at our life choices, I have found myself thinking about them differently.

“Being unemployed isn’t merely about the monetary implications, but the loss of identity and purpose that goes with it.”

There is an A4 printout, folded in quarters, pinned to the notice board above my desk. I can’t remember when exactly I put it there, but it has been there for the better part of a decade. Written on it in bold, intentionally ropey-looking letters faded by nearly ten years’ worth of sun are the words OPEN ONLY IN CASES OF LOW MORALE AND/OR SELF-DOUBT… If I hadn’t opened it for a long time until recently, it isn’t because there hasn’t been any low morale or self-doubt to speak of (after all, there has certainly been plenty of both!) but because I have been distracted by other endeavours, and have gradually moved away from what this printout was supposed to keep me focused on.

And that’s writing. You see, for me, it has always been about writing. Always. From the novella I scribbled in a spiral bound notebook at age seven to the actual 79,000-word novel I wrote, and later shelved, at age 20, writing has been one of the few constants in my life. And no matter what other hats I’ve worn — barista, business owner, sales representative, student — the writer hat has never really come off.

It might have taken a pandemic-induced existential crisis for me to admit this once and for all, but, here we are: I’m a writer and there’s no use trying to fight it anymore.

If this sounds a bit ridiculous, or as though I’ve just taken the floor at the writerly equivalent of an AA meeting, or both, then I had better explain. That printout I mentioned above? Well, unfolded, it contains a list of positive remarks made by former teachers of mine concerning my writing and storytelling abilities. These span the decade or so from nursery school to Year 8 which, for me, was the last year of middle school — I’m not 100% sure what happened when I got to high school, though there is a certain boy I’m inclined to blame.

“It might have taken a pandemic-induced existential crisis for me to admit this once and for all, but, here we are: I’m a writer.”

I suppose I must have extracted these comments from my old school reports and stuck them all in a single Word document for whenever a crisis of confidence might arise. I’m sure this also sounds slightly ridiculous, but, you know what? When you need extra encouragement with something, especially something difficult, having written proof that you were always meant to do that particular thing is actually a huge help.

If I can glean one positive from the veritable dumpster fire that has been 2020 so far, it is that I have finally discovered, or rather rediscovered, what it is that I believe I was born to do. And while I don’t regret anything I’ve done so far in life — especially not running my own business, which I never expected I would do — I always knew I would return to writing at some point. I guess I just had to go and live a bit first, get banged up, find some stories to tell.

There is an obscure Bob Dylan quote that has been echoing around my head since the evening when, aged nineteen and interest sufficiently piqued, I copied it into my notebook: “People seldom do what they believe in. They do what is convenient, then repent.”

Admittedly, this isn’t Dylan’s peppiest quote. You probably won’t see it on a T-shirt, or on any of those inspirational Instagram feeds. But my god does it pack a punch. You see, I never wanted to be one of those people who chose a path in life because it was easy, or indeed convenient. I don’t judge anyone for doing this, because life is hard and why not make it easier for yourself if you can, but I’ve known for a long time that, if I’m not doing something I believe in, I’d rather not be doing it at all. I realise that not everyone has this luxury, but I don’t want to wake up one day decades down the line and wonder why I didn’t at least try. I’m sure some of you reading this must feel the same.

“I don’t want to wake up one day decades down the line and wonder why I didn’t at least try.”

And so I guess that’s how I got here. Part of me wonders why I didn’t do this years ago, but as hinted at above, it has taken time to figure out what it is that I want to say. Hopefully some of you will stick around to hear it — I promise I won’t always be so introspective!

Did any of this resonate with you? If so, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Drop me a line via Twitter, or whichever platform you prefer. :)

This piece was originally published on alisonlaurabell.com in 2020.