I denied my intuition and she roared in my face

I haven’t posted any of my writing for a while. I have been living in a crazy whirlwind of challenge, change, and difficult decisions. Four months ago, I moved to London to start a new job at a very early-stage tech start up. I took it as a given that I wouldn't continue with my reflective writing on the Bigger Questions; I assumed that there wouldn't be anything worth sharing now that I wasn't travelling, and besides, I could barely find time to do my laundry.

But it is time to come back to candour. I want to open up about the turbulent times I have experienced since making the decision to return from South America for a job which ultimately was not right for me. This decision, and the results that ensued, have formed one of my most significant and magnificent life lessons to date. Rediscovering my writing practice has helped me to make sense of all of this, and I hope that by focussing, condensing and summarising my reflections enough to share the story on this platform, I can gain even more clarity over what comes next.

One year ago I flew out to Guatemala to embark upon a solo adventure in Latin America. My plan was not to plan; I was guided by little more than my intuition when I left, and I was happy to leave my immediate future as a blank space waiting to be filled. I remember sitting in Amsterdam Schiphol airport, waiting for my connecting flight, and writing my first blog post. I read that post back just now, 12 months on. I feel proud of the girl that wrote it. She was brave and intrepid. She was falling back with her arms folded across her chest and a subtle, knowing smile on her face. I am, of course, still that girl, though I think that somewhere over the last year I lost touch with her for a little bit.

I remember that when I left I had been comfortable with the idea of a completely undefined adventure across Latin America, and the ‘What the hell am I doing?’ post seems to verify this. I had no plans beyond the month-long yoga teacher training I had booked for March. My intention was to travel until I found a place that I liked enough to stay, and then find a way to earn some money and live there. It was very vague, which I felt completely comfortable with…for probably about as long as it took me to write that first blog post. Even before the end of my yoga teacher training, I started to fret about what I was going to do with my life. More specifically, I started to worry that a rewarding career was completely out of my reach. It’s not like this was constantly on my mind - I found moments of real purpose and deep alignment during this period. However, there was certainly a chink in the armour of my intuition where work and professional development was concerned. I felt blind, clueless and anxious to get started. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, an opportunity presented itself.

I had been interested in working for a start-up ever since someone suggested that they offer great flexibility to explore a range of roles and responsibilities within one position. I was also attracted to the possibility for a steep growth trajectory and the potential financial payoff. This was the option that appealed to my professional insecurity, and it seemed to make sense for me to choose this option. Why would I stay out in South America, without any real prospects, over a chance to join the founding team of a start-up that seemed to have great chances of success? This question makes it seem like a no-brainer, which on some days is what the decision felt like. On other days, I was certain that there was some magical opportunity waiting just around the corner for me on my South American adventure, and I felt resolved to answer the calling. Throughout July and August I changed my mind on a near daily basis. It was a tug of war between my head and my heart.

In the end, I decided to come home and try the job out: I wouldn’t get a second chance to accept the job offer, whereas the countries I wanted (and still want) to explore weren’t going anywhere. I wrote another post, one of the last ones I published, detailing this decision. I came back to the UK in late September, and started working full time in November. It was bloody hard work. I struggled to find the time to enjoy living in London, which I had previously been so excited for. I started to neglect my mental health; I was anxious about work, insecure about my worth, and uncomfortable in my living situation. I lost an important line of communication between my body (the seat of my habits and cravings) and my mind (the core of who I am and what I value). I was letting myself be ruled by external pressures, like work obligations, other peoples’ expectations, loneliness, and a weekly craving to blow off the week’s steam when Friday came around. I had been ready for some hard work, but this was hard work that I didn’t feel motivated to do. I didn’t find it exciting or particularly rewarding, and ploughing on regardless felt like climbing an unstable ladder up a broken wall.

The best word I can use to describe how I felt through this time is heartbreak: deep sadness and painful abandonment. I felt that I had betrayed my gut to pursue a life that emulated what other people were doing – what I thought I should have been doing. This went dramatically against everything I believe to represent a life well lived. I felt distanced from my truth, and angry for having brought it on myself. On the weekend I would take myself to the local park and sit on a grassy hill and cry, watching the busy city ebb and flow. I was grateful for the anonymity that London’s vastness afforded me; I felt like the dim light of a person that wasn’t worth knowing. I was rubbish at my job in a city that rewards material success. I was alone on too many Sundays, feeling hungover and regretful that I wasted my precious free time on alcohol. I felt disregarded by my housemates, almost invisible in my own home. I was bloody cold and tense shoulders makes monsters of us all.

Despite everything, I found humour in my situation. There was a clear message that lay beneath the surface of my pain: this is what happens when you ignore your intuition. I could carry on, or I could face up to my deep, existential dissastisfaction and come home to myself.

So, after only three months, I quit my job and I moved out of my house. I was terrified to have the conversation with my boss, but in the end he was incredibly understanding - no hard feelings, no apology necessary. I felt embarrassed to leave after such a short period of time, and I had no alternative lined up to move on to. It isn’t the most sensible thing I’ve ever done but then again, misery is far more senseless and much less fun. The overwhelming response to my dramatic U-turn has been positive, reassuring, and encouraging. It has reinforced my self-confidence as someone who is bold and makes difficult choices based on her gut. There is no shame in changing your mind. I’m glad that I tried this out, and I know that the lesson hasn’t been wasted on me.

I had made the decision to stop drifting through South America, to come back and apply myself, yet really I was still drifting. I would suggest that there are a thousand factors that exercise more control over the course of our lives than we ever will, despite our best efforts and headiest ambitions. If control is an illusion, then can we humans ever hope for better than well-intentioned drifting? I may have tethered myself to an intended trajectory, but what happens when that trajectory turns out to induce stress, anxiety, insecurity and dissatisfaction? In many cases: stubborn, tethered drifting in unhappy waters. In my case: a difficult severing of the tether to drift freely once more. I’m terrified, but after becoming acquainted with the much more dull fear that I was following a path not meant for me, this version of fear feels more like exhilaration.

I have much more to say on this. But I need something to motivate me to keep up with this practice that helps me in so many ways. So... until next time.