When I was about 11 years old. . .

I looked up from a book of Celtic myths and told my parents that I wanted to spend my life exploring the ways story reflects and shapes culture. My parents immediately panicked and sent me to science camp.

For the next 27 years, I found myself caught in a tension between following my curiosity and passion and following the well trodden path cleared by my parents, family, and schools.

That tension showed up when I was about to graduate with my MA in Theater and my mentor at school had offered me a part time job teaching acting and Shakespeare to at risk youth in Chicago. My mother had asked a friend of hers to meet with me and offer me a job as a manager of programming at a new Nature Museum.

I wanted nothing more than to give back to the community and inspire people with art using my hard won skills. So, of course, I took the job at the Nature Museum.

my life got a little bit smaller

These small choices showed up everywhere.

Career, dating, friendships, even my choices of places to live. Each of them both created and reinforced my core belief that I would never amount to much. That, despite being fairly intelligent and not without talent, my life was destined to be mediocre at best. 

Let’s take a moment to acknowledge that I had a pretty great life.

In addition to having the basic privilege of being born white in America, my parents loved and supported me. I got a first rate education, fantastic grades, was able to support myself, had friends. I’d acted on stages in Chicago and Los Angeles, some pretty fancy ones. I had built a reputation as a compelling storyteller at events like The Moth even as I pursued a career in nonprofit management; real save the world kind of stuff. On the outside, it all looked fantastic.

But inside, I felt like a misshapen slug.
Unworthy of fulfillment.
Unworthy of the life I had built around me.
Unworthy of love.

Ooof.

Those are heavy beliefs to carry. And when I hit 35, they brought me to my knees.

I had trouble getting off the couch. My friends, to whom I am forever grateful, came over to clean and cook for me. I ate sweets obsessively and experienced a ton of anger, mostly directed at myself.

The clinical term for all this is 'dysthymia,' or long term, low grade depression that may get deeper over time. Because of how deeply ingrained the beliefs, the stories, driving the depression were, my therapist advised me that healing could take five or ten years.

I'd wanted a life of magic, exploration, creativity and service. Now I looked into the future and saw endless decades of deskbound drudgery and pasta dinners eaten alone over the kitchen sink.

I didn't have 5 or ten years. I needed to take action now.

My soul was calling and I couldn't ignore it anymore.

So I did the most terrifying thing I'd ever done: I started to make big choices.

I quit my job as a financial management consultant for nonprofits and went to South America to work with indigenous healers. And I dove into a breathwork meditation practice.

Each choice, each conscious decision, chipped away at the beliefs that had driven my decisions for three decades.