The Never-Ending Anxiety of Ambition
“You have such lofty goals that it blinds you from what you already have”, Jon said as we sat on the porch of my aunt’s farm house chatting the morning after Orphan Mothers’ first out-of-province tour date in Winnipeg.
I’d just spent the past 15 minutes talking about what I hoped to achieve this year and my frustrations that things were moving slowly. I want to put out two more albums. I want to travel. I want to become a better Ruby developer. I want to put out new podcasts, start doing stand-up, write skits and make videos. I want to go to the gym, eat better, and quit smoking. Maybe move to a different country. In between all that, I’d like to make new friends and experience adventures. Life isn’t that inspiring when you stay in your basement suite coding and writing and eating pastrami from the package.
On the 6 hour drive home we didn’t talk much. I think that’s my favourite part about travelling with Jon, we don’t need to talk. When we do, it means something. I remember most things Jon says as a result, but his words from that morning stuck with me, as if playing on repeat for hours on end.
The night before I was ecstatic. We arrived in Winnipeg to a somewhat-recently gentrified neighbourhood that felt hip and smelled nice. Posters I designed were plastered along telephone polls and people were enjoying pints on patios. I felt proud. I felt like I’d achieved something great and that perhaps my life was in a state that I could be satisfied with.
It was only just over a year ago that I had been in a somewhat dark point in my life. I wasn’t happy at work. My music career seemed limp and lifeless after having an album sitting in the limbo of mixing and mastering for over a year (it’s still not out — oh well). I felt stuck in a relationship that just wasn’t working. It seemed like a whirlwind when we started Orphan Mothers as the result of a Twitter joke.
A few months later, we released Towers. I found a new, amazing, job at a company that I am proud to work for. I ended my relationship. I started a new solo project. I started a network of podcasts. I started to travel more as a result of all of the above. I got hella busy.
But then I got hella anxious. Why was I tired all of the time? Why couldn’t I maintain any form of a relationship for much longer than a week? Why haven’t I toured more? Why haven’t I spoken at any conferences in months? Why wasn’t I playing shows more than once a week? Why was I so god damn boring and lazy.
I caught myself before falling into an anxiety attack from these exact questions on the drive home. I’d been thinking about what Jon said and drifted into my personal worries quickly.
“You need me to drive?”
“No, I need to occupy myself or I’ll just start crying.”
Ambition is a real fucker. The desire for what may seem to be impossible, with a sometimes naive hope that it is possible. It can fill a person with an exhausted envy that can only temporarily be relieved by a sense of achievement.
It will never stop. There’s always going to be that thing that seems unobtainable. When you finally grasp whatever it is — a new skill, an opportunity, a personal connection, it’ll open up an entirely new realm of possibilities and what seem to be impossibilities.
Tie this into the general cascade of anxieties we all face, and you’ve got one hot mess of a human being. It becomes an endless cycle of wasting hours that could be spent on being productive with feeling downtrodden with the worry that you only live once and oh god that’s not enough time and damnit Drake why did you turn this into a slogan.
I’m not sure what the solution to this feeling is. I can’t provide any answers aside from perhaps empathy to those who find themselves in a similar position. Maybe months from now after recognizing this part of my personality, I’ll be able to have some wisdom in hindsight. Until then, hopefully those who feel similarly know that I can empathize with them.
