Career arcs and (not) building a legacy
Does anyone know what they're doing?
I’m struggling to find a narrative for my internet writing, so forgive the non-cohesion of the following 700 words.
I’ve written on the internet for 15ish years, in a variety of formats, and for a variety of reasons, and one thing I’ve learned is that writing publicly is the smoothest way to shepherd me from the current thing to the next thing.
I live for feedback and validation, and that’s what writing does for me.
If you know me in real life, you’ll remember there was a time I was very “involved.” I was excited by my own narrative, and did a lot of talking, writing, dinner hosting, and conjecture-spouting. It was a very fun time, as I was figuring out my own narrative and the way I see the world, with mostly positive feedback to reinforce said narrative.
I did that (in service of running a business and having a strong personal brand) for 8 years, and honestly, I’m surprised I lasted that long (having people on payroll is definitely a good way to continue doing something that you don’t love for far longer than you think you want to). Being public-facing is tiring, but also often validating in moments when I needed to be validated (and when no one was picking up their phone).
Some of you know that the pandemic obliterated my event business, and honestly, I was too tired to care. I was in a career that was slowly killing me, and I couldn’t give it up — certainly not for the people on payroll, but also because I didn’t know who I was without centering my status as an entrepreneur (and a profitable one, which I was, which is more of an accomplishment than most people think).
I’m almost 3 years out from what seemed like the end of my professional life and, while I didn’t die, I’m struggling to find meaning in the places I used to find it (namely, the length of my to do list, and the number of people who emailed me to tell me how fantastic I am).
The funny thing about having a career that was everything to me and then was all of a sudden ripped away (for the right reasons) is that losing my identity AND CONTINUING TO EXIST means my identity is no longer centered around the work I do.
Which is fucking annoying because now there’s an identity vacuum that I’m struggling to fill.
Who am I without meaningful, important work?
What is a legacy and will I have one (and do I need one)?
Should I have a kid so someone remembers me when I’m dead?
I don’t think we talk about how identity is something that grounds us in purpose, but when that identity shifts, whether or not it’s of our own doing, a vacuum of existential mess is created.
The easier way to write this piece would have been me explaining how my business disappeared, I got very depressed, I survived, and now do things like play pickleball with the intensity of my high school gym teacher, take interesting (if not quite cohesive) projects with big companies, and film myself training my dog.
But the reality is that, after I mostly exceeded even my own expectations, I’m struggling to reconsider what purpose and identity even is.
So right now, work is work. I’m taking on some marketing and freelance projects, have been doing some content and strategy work for former clients, I’ve done a handful of operational audits and financial consults for colleagues, and despite almost years of internet silence, am still being recommended for large event projects (the brand strength endures).
One thing I know is that I built the life I have currently, from the blankest of canvasses, and I can hardly believe I was able to do that. And while I won’t need to start all the way at the beginning again, since my skillset is far more mature, I do know the next arc of my career is re-finding that identity, knowing that this too will be impermanent.