The day I realized I was a rebel was the day I realized I could do anything.
Growing up, I was a perfectionist. In some ways I guess I still am. My life revolved around sports, academics, art, and people. I had to be the best I could be in all these areas. I had to work harder than anyone else on the field, spend more hours with my nose in textbooks, perfect my painting technique, and be the nicest, kindest friend and best-behaved child I could be. This self-imposed set of requirements caused lots of stress and lots of negative self-talk, not all the time, but more than I now think was healthy.
In high school, I coached the school track team when no teachers would step in, was captain of my school and club soccer teams, achieved provincial-level results in my own track running, had several paintings and sculptures accepted into galleries and was known as one of the nicest girls around. University was different. Between a car accident and several concussions, being across the country without a nearby support network, having a roommate that screamed at me and played horrible pranks to make my life hell, and suddenly struggling academically for the first time in my life, I had breakdown after breakdown. I now realize these breakdowns weren't from the failures and loss of status in all of these areas, but from the molting process that was happening to my personality, my head, and my heart.
Finding myself in new territory, my real self was rearing its head. Who was I? I didn't actually know. In a dorm room, without access to paints and sculptural materials, unable to run due to injury and cold weather, and not enjoying the party culture my school was famous for, I felt alone. Like a bird molting its old set of feathers, I had no clue what was going on. All I knew was that everything was painful and scary.
I finished my undergrad, got a marketing job at a startup, made new friends, went back to school for a Masters' degree, got a job at a fancy national magazine, then moved to a tech startup doing revolutionary work. I did everything I was supposed to do because my brain still wanted me to follow the narrow path to success laid out from the time I was a child. I sorted out my sports injuries and embraced some new sports that I now feel are absolutely essential to my happiness. I am endlessly grateful for this. However, other areas weren't sorted out yet.
I hadn't opened my sketchbook or picked up a paintbrush in years. After about five years I realized this and started opening my sketchbook sometimes. The blank pages were intimidating though, so usually, I closed the book after the white space made my eyes tired. This bothered me, but I had no clue how to recapture my creativity.
Last year, my best friend's mom got sick. Really sick. She was told, at the age of 54 that she only had a couple of months to live. Her daughters were living in far-flung countries. The day of her diagnosis she called me at work, while I was at the horribly toxic fancy magazine. I left the office without saying anything to anyone, almost knocking the CEO over on my way out. I showed up at my friend's house and she collapsed into tears. The strongest woman I know was crying in my arms telling me she didn't think she could fight the illness a second time because she barely got out alive last time, when my best friend and I were teenagers.
The next day, I went to see her again. We sat in her apartment looking out the window at the mountains and she told me that I had made her want to fight again. She also told me I had to quit my job because she could tell it was killing me. These two messages, delivered together, hit my life like some incredible electric shock and immediately changes started happening.
As she went through treatment and got better (she will be around for a few more years, at least, quite healthy). I left my toxic job for a fun tech startup. I stopped expending energy on friends that didn't fulfill me, and I started writing for self-reflection to get to the bottom of my creativity drought.
Ten years after the molting started, I have finally come out the other side with a beautiful new set of feathers. It turns out I still didn't quite fit into the box at the tech startup, but I loved a lot of it and discovered more about what I need out of a career. I have started creating art again. Best of all, I have realized I don't fit into any boxes I had built for myself, based on what I thought society wanted from me. I am a rebel at heart: I need to live my life feeling like I am making a positive impact, even if it is at the expense of my bank account or LinkedIn profile. In the past few months, finishing a year of extreme adversity for a number of reasons, I finally know who I am and am deeply proud of that person. I am a rebel.
I am a rebel because I will go to the greatest lengths I can to take care of myself, mentally and physically. I am a rebel because I will give my closest friends and family the kindness and love they truly deserve and let them know every day how wonderful they are and how much they mean to me. I am a rebel because I am going to look for a new job slowly, waiting for the right one instead of desperately ingratiating myself with the interviewer at any place that offers a sexy title and fat paycheque. I am a rebel because I will let myself do the things that bring me joy, even if that means I am skipping a Friday night downtown in favour of a beer and my sketchbook in my tiny, perfect apartment. I am a rebel because I am learning to follow my gut and speak my mind when people ask me to compromise my beliefs.
I am a rebel because I have stopped apologizing for who I am and will no longer let others put me in a box.
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