I did the hard look in the mirror thing. It wasn’t pretty. But then, neither was my life at the time.
I was in my mid-20s. Professionally, I was unhappy, making great money in a sales career that used none of my real talents and fed none of my sense of purpose. I missed the Marine Corps. I knew I didn’t want to go back, but I didn’t see many options going forward. I remember thinking, resigning, to the idea that this is what life is supposed to feel like now, and feeling nothing but bleh about that.
Underneath the career life was heavier. My brother had just died, suddenly and tragically. He committed suicide. To this day, it’s been the most painful, gut-wrenching experience of my life. If all this wasn’t enough, I was all alone. My husband at the time, an active-duty Marine, was one month into a 7-month deployment to Djibouti, Africa. I was drowning in grief and depression. What’s worse? I didn’t have the maturity to name it, let alone process it.
So I did what a lot of us do. I ate my emotions. I chased what was left of myself with red wine. I ran, but not because I loved it. I ran the way you’d punish a dog, as penance for the night before. I remember one particular morning, lacing up for a run I didn’t want to take, looking exactly like I felt: like hell.
I didn’t want to keep living like that. But I didn’t know another way, until I paused.
I went for a walk. And instead of replaying the night before, hating myself for my poor choices, I let myself think about what I actually wanted. Not vaguely. As specifically as I could manage. I didn’t have all the answers. But I had enough of a picture to do one important thing: hold it up next to my actual, current habits.
The contrast wasn’t flattering. The sum of my daily decisions was leading me straight down the drain.
That walk was the first time I really understood the difference between the self I was performing and the self I actually was. I looked put together. I was making great money. On paper, I was fine. But the actual version of me, underneath the performance, was drowning. Closing that gap is the whole idea behind “Being the Actual.” You cannot build a life you’re proud of on top of a version of yourself you’re disappointed in.
So I started making different decisions. Small at first, nothing dramatic:
- Not abstaining from alcohol and sugar, but setting real boundaries around both
- Committing actual time to the book I’d always meant to write, instead of starting it, stopping it, and telling myself I’d get to it later
- Training for races, not just running to run. I’d always been a good runner, never a great one, and I wanted to find out what was actually possible
- Starting therapy, because underneath all of it, I just wanted to be clear and happy.
None of these decisions were huge on any given day. But stacked one on top of the other, they shifted the trajectory of my life.
Today, I have healthy wellness habits I don’t have to white-knuckle. Real boundaries with sugar and alcohol. Three published books … and a fourth in the works. A Boston Marathon qualifying time, for the race I was supposed to run in 2020. (One day this will happen!) I’m 50 years old, and somehow more energetic, empowered, and alive than I was in my 20s, when I was supposedly in my prime.
Possibly most important? I’m fulfilled in every sense of the word.
Life still hasn’t been easy. It never fully is. But the challenges have been worth the suffering, because I know now what’s on the other side of them.
So I’ll offer you what that walk offered me:
Have you looked in the mirror lately? Do you like what you see?
As best you can, imagine your future. Fill in the blanks. Point your compass towards that version of yourself you want to be, and start walking toward it, one small, undramatic decision at a time. We’re all just one decision away from a different life. And change is rarely as hard as we think it’s going to be.
