The NeverEnding Next

One of my favorite books is Looking for Alaska by John Green and there’s a phrase the famous-last-words-loving main character, Miles Halter, uses that are allegedly the actual last words of a 15th century French writer; “I go to seek The Great Perhaps.” I think of this phrase so often in my idle time, frequently while I am walking to or from work and my mind is wandering off from whatever podcast isn’t quite completely ensnaring me. Even more frequently though, I think the intention of that phrase in the context of my own existence would more accurately be “The NeverEnding Next.” And yes, just like the Story from our collective childhoods, in mine, it is just one smooshed together word with a magical capital letter nestled in the midst. Obviously. 

This idea of a NeverEnding Next has stuck with me for several years now and I think it’s probably been reinforced by, if not born from, listening to a multitude of celebrity podcast hosts and guests wax poetic about their trajectory to stardom and how no matter what hill they crest or mountain they summit in their careers, they never really feel like they have arrived or finally “made it.” They talk about (allegedly) never feeling financially or professionally secure, never truly fulfilled, creatively free, whatever. I believe them even though I also can’t help but roll my eyes because it’s all relative, right? To some extent, I relate to the financial and professional sentiments but I think I understand it more as it relates to personality, perspective, self-awareness, the quest for self-actualization, etc. Maybe the feeling as it relates to feeling? Is that too meta? 

What I mean is, aside from the intense seasons of overcoming, persisting, resisting, or rising above, in those times in life where everything is just kind of … good, why do we lack the ability to just be present, observe it, notice it, and revel in it? “We” start looking for the next thing to tackle, the next task to complete, the next tribulation to overcome, the next riddle to solve. At least I do.  

Maybe it is hard for me to identify times in my life where I have felt content because there exists a decided lack of those times; there is too little evidence to examine further. Or maybe I just cannot abide letting those times last long enough to register when I eventually have the time and distance to look behind me. Am I alone in this experience or does this resonate? 

I think this is one of those times and I want to notice it.  

I started a new job this week and the cultural difference from my last role is already so starkly remarkable that it is genuinely dysregulating. I have spent months, years really, talking about my job in terms of the toxicity of the environment, lack of leadership, lack of respect, lack of change management coupled with continual transitions, untenable workload, and the countless hours of effort (and tears) I put into the job search to get unstuck. It has finally happened. I experienced the spectrum of emotions over this very long time coming. For nearly half of the past four years now, the work trauma was both exacerbated and compounded by my personal life imploding. But it also became secondary to the acute need to extricate myself from the vicious black hole that became my personal life before I could justify giving any additional energy to getting out of a bad work situation. Therapy has helped with both, of course, and I’m sure the medication doesn’t pick and choose whether it is sedating the terrible boss stressors or the lying sonofabitch betrayal stressors. But now that neither of those enormous, insidious, black storm systems are hanging over me, sucking up all the fresh air and zapping all the color, I do not feel ecstatic or even all that peaceful. I thought I would! Like the celebs, I mistakenly thought there would be a glorious mountaintop upon which I would get to plant my flag and say, “This! This is what I worked so hard to achieve! I can finally stop!” 

Instead, it is far more subdued: Grateful that I made it through. Thankful for a markedly healthier work environment. Humbled by the myriad life support I received along the way. Proud of the muscles I strengthened and flexed and, frankly, invented as I fought. Hopeful about learning to love my new work after two decades of my tank being filled daily by teenagers. Eager to meet this mythical work-life balance I’ve heard so much about. 

All of those wonderful things are true. 

I am also waiting for the next shoe to drop.  

And feeling unsettled about a brewing internal frustration that is like a tin cup clanging against the bars currently keeping my mind contained; a niggling, annoying racket, and a signal that the calm cannot possibly last, that my thoughts will eventually break free, seeking the NeverEnding Next.