Phase Five: It Starts

A few months ago, I received a rather random phone call from a friend of mine. It was early in the morning - on a Saturday - when he called. And I don't think he'd been to sleep yet from the night before, meaning Friend had been awake for over twenty-four hours, sustaining himself with I don't know what. However, despite his lack of sleep and likely very altered state at the time, our conversation was actually... well... GOOD.

This was surprising for me on various levels. Because the truth is, well, Friend is actually an ex-boyfriend. But we've known each other since we were 12, which is more than half of my life, and for all intensive purposes, FOREVER. So he just can't get the Ex-Boyfriend title. It’s for the guys I trick myself into thinking I didn’t really date. The ass holes, more or less. And despite Friend's best intentions at being an ass hole, well, I just know him too well to know that it’s all an act.

But back to the conversation. Our surface attempts at catching up on each other's lives were fine, without the standard awkward silences that make me wonder how on earth we ever had so much to say to one another. Those silences that make you question all the years you were "together." We talked about apartments, roommates, movies, weather, parties, hangovers, mothers, golfing, running, friends. But then the inevitable, "How's work?" was laid out there and for whatever reason, my tears just started to build. By now, I was actually in my car driving to my office - yes, on a Saturday - which made the tears that much more upsetting. And so the crying because I was crying began, and once I reach that point, there's not much I can do but just let it all out.

For working on a Saturday.
For having stayed in the night before.
For caring so much.
About everything.
But especially work.
For wondering if it even matters?
And because I'm bored.
REALLY bored.
With work.
With DC.
With myself.
And why AM I still here in DC?
And what am I doing with, well... EVERYTHING?

Friend made his best effort to calm me down. We don’t need to have the answers. We’re young and there’s plenty of time to figure it out and make mistakes. Which I've heard before, but honestly, I didn't think it applied to me. I do everything right. All the time. Mostly on the first try. I know what I'M doing with MY life.

But then he said it. That he never really worries about me. That he knows I will always be successful. Because I'm really smart. And ridiculously driven. And just a GOOD person. (With a nice rack, as Friend would surely not forget to mention.) And that he's sure everything will work out and I'll be happy. It's just that he followed all of that up with, "But you could have a really great life. I worry that you won't take risks to really be something."

And that knocked the wind out of me. Because I don't take risks. I play it all safe. I like to know what I'm getting into otherwise I don't get into it. I'm predictable and practical and I do so few things on a whim. I work hard and overachieve. Again and again and again. It looks so good on paper. And it's so damn boring. Not to mention tiring. Oh, and by the way, I don't really know what I'm doing with my life...

I hate it when he’s right.

So it's been a few months now. And I'm still bored. And I still don't know exactly why I'm in DC. And I can't shake this conversation. And it's definitely time to look for a new job. And I really hate it when he’s right. So I might as well prove him wrong and shock and entertain myself in the process. Sure, there are other reasons, too. Some of them are even sound ideas from a career perspective. But I don't want it to only be about that.

Phase Five: San Francisco.

It starts.