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November 03, 2007
Manifest Destiny
When I got off the plane in San Diego yesterday, I was filled with a wave of nostalgia. There was the gate where I almost missed my flight back to grad school after the love of my life broke my heart. There was the airport hallway where I first saw Janie when she was just two months old and still a bit purple and wrinkly. There was Grape Street where that cool architectural salvage store still is. There was the Coronado bridge, and there was the restaurant where I was almost proposed to. There is the beach where the Navy SEALS run around doing their Navy SEAL thing. There is the sunshine that always makes me feel happy.
I lived in San Diego for just under a year, in between college and graduate school. I was ridiculously young--just 20--and I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. I had a liberal arts degree but no skills, and I ended up working as a random office person at a small local company whose product I still am unclear about. I didn't really have any local friends outside of the social circle acquired through my boyfriend (the aforementioned love of my life). I knew I didn't want to be in the Pacific Northwest anymore, missed my friends in DC, but had nothing pulling me back in that direction. When I was offered a chance for a free ride to grad school back East, I jumped at it. That was nine years ago, and aside from visiting my family I few times immediately afterwards, I hadn't been back to San Diego since.
It didn't really occur to me when I booked this trip that I would be coming back to a place with deep personal significance. Thus I was surprised to feel bursts of emotion—ranging from general amusement to bittersweet longing and throbbing anger—at every turn. And so for the last 24 hours I have been caught up in remembering the person that I was back then. I remember her as being much nicer, more open, and more generous with her feelings. But she was also aimless, restless, and dramatic. In short, she was a girl who graduated from college too early, when she should have stuck around another two years and grown up a bit.
Not that I regret the choices I made (or allowed to be made for me). After all, the chances that life would turn out this way—having a thriving business in a cutting-edge field—were so astronomically small that it could only have happened through the combination of all those small decisions along the way. I think I probably would have stayed close to my family, and stayed connected with my friends—but the career part of my life was a total fluke and I have to be grateful that it all spun out the way that it did.
All of this history makes it very strange to be here—at a conference on growing a small business—because it's forcing me to not just be retrospective in my ponderings, but also to look forward. For the last six months I've been struggling with the Big Idea and where I see it going. For the first two years, I just wanted to see if I could do it and not starve (or live off of my ever-patient parents). And now that I've achieved those milestones of industry credibility, financial solvency, and personal respect...well, I'm just not quite sure what the next step is. But being at this conference, and being challenged with some great information and thought-provoking questions, the way forward is becoming a little clearer.
At least on the career front. When I look back at what made my life meaningful when I lived here (being totally and completely in love with someone), the way forward looks pretty empty. As much as I have grown in the past nine years, I think my capacity for true intimacy has shrunk. And if I'm honest about where I'm putting my time and energy these days, it's not in the “emotional development” arena.
Of course, when I am rich and successful and sitting on my yacht in the San Diego sunshine, I might not care. And if you promise not to talk about your feelings, I might invite you along.
