Looking forward, cautiously
Finding my way as a wounded healer
The forced hiatus in my life that mental illness has gifted me has given me space to think about my visions for the future. Now having enough distance from my college years to free myself from the tyranny of my double major in maths and music (which I definitely needed and wanted but which did limit my capacity to explore other subjects), I realize that I have never dreamed of a particular career, but rather a way of being. I feel strongly called to the path of the wounded healer, of the human who works towards continual enlightenment and healing by helping other people on their own journeys.
It reminds me of when my high school choral director and I were discussing my future plans. He was adamant that I should pursue music (specifically, attend a conservatory for piano performance) because of my talent and passion. I felt like something was oddly wrong, and I felt confused why I should be so hesitant with this when I already was rebellious from my parents about so many other things. Eventually, I developed the conviction to email him this:
Some people are endowed with a consuming love for a particular thing or activity that they truly cannot live without. I have often envied such people, for their path seems so wonderfully clear. Yet I could never say I have loved anything so dearly, with both passion and conviction, except the idea1 of human…If I become a musician of some sort - pianist, composer, or otherwise - it must be through a non-traditional, indirect path, somewhat like how Ayn Rand, knowing from childhood that she would be a writer, studied history and philosophy in university rather than creative writing so that she would have a richer intellectual context from which to draw inspiration. Similarly, if I become an educator - a career that also speaks to me in some ways - it will be because I was first an avid, cross-disciplinary learner.
Actually I’m amazed at reading this email that I sent five years ago and still resonating with everything I wrote. I suppose that is a good sign. I know where I am going; I always have.
Maths and music are my roots, interests that have preoccupied me since early childhood. I won’t ever leave them, but I am branching out. I am no longer only, or even primarily, a musician. I’m an interdisciplinary artist who combines and moves between mediums as my creativity calls for. Similarly, my education interests are no longer primarily centered on maths. I’m an educator for liberation.
So this time of reprieve for me is in no sense unproductive. Even if my executive functioning is in the dumps and my mental health is wavering, my experiences now prepare me to work as a wounded healer in education and in the arts. It’s not a resume gap; it is to shred the whole concept of the resume. I am not a bulleted list of accomplishments; I am a dynamic narrative, a time-weathered oak.
In the coming years, I hope to pursue unconventional paths to achieve my unique goals. I won’t say more about this now, but will in time reveal more details about what I mean. And being out of the manic episode during which I wrote most of this post, I already feel more doubtful and distressed about my plans. That is fine. My inner light glows and knows.
There is so much that I feel anxious about when looking towards my future. I am worried that my mental health might worsen. I am worried that my parents’ physical health might falter, too, and that I might not be in a place to support them if it does. I am nervous about finding my path towards independent living in a capitalist, neurotypical-centered society. I fear that my unconventional path is risky or not right for me, even as I believe that it is my best choice available. A portfolio career has more opportunity for stability than if I focused on one pursuit alone.
And as a neuroqueer person in a harshly normative world, it is very risky for me to force myself to work a job that does not interest me or accommodate my needs and disability, which describes a lot of conventional jobs out there. I do not have the privilege of sacrificing my health in order to pay the bills. Knowing that my parents can support me financially for a couple years longer — a privilege I have that others do not — I’m trying to take advantage of it as much as I can until I can confidently leave the nest, hopefully flying.
I don’t know exactly what I meant by “idea of human.” I’m guessing that it was in between “human spirit” and “ideals of humanity.”