Why are we so afraid of change and the unknown?

I know I am—especially now, staring down the blank slate I so sloppily handed myself. Part of me is excited to step away from the 9-to-5 grind for a while. In eight months, I’ll have the freedom to go wherever I want, do whatever I want. That kind of freedom sounds like a dream to most people, but lately, my anxiety has been kicking my ass.

I feel like everyone’s leaving me behind. Two of my best friends just dropped major news—one’s starting a business, and the other just got engaged. I should be ecstatic. And don’t get me wrong, I am proud of them and happy for what they’ve accomplished. But instead of joy, their news lit my brain on fire.

The same day I heard their updates, I found myself frantically looking up law schools and browsing sales jobs in the area. I didn’t want to fall behind in the rat race. I couldn’t stomach the thought of looking weak—or whatever it is my ego was telling me. My brain piled it on: “Look at you. You’re a loser. Still unemployed. Still single. And honestly, why would anyone want to be with you?”

Yeah... yesterday was not a good day.

But once the smoke cleared—and I finally got a decent night of sleep—I started to shift my focus. I began to see the possibilities. Maybe I’ll move to San Diego or Cocoa Beach and learn to surf. I’ve written three songs since getting out of the psych ward. You won’t hear them on the radio anytime soon—or probably ever—but they’re mine. They’re something I created from scratch.

That’s what this change gave me: a chance to make something new. To find a bit of light in a dark space. That’s never been easy for me.

I’m not writing this to say I’ve got it all figured out or that what I’m doing is “cool.” My head’s still spinning most days. But instead of beating the shit out of myself, I’m learning to sit with the unknown. Maybe even enjoy it. And yeah, it also gave me time to watch a killer Lynyrd Skynyrd documentary.

All I’m really trying to say is this: sometimes things won’t be perfect. And maybe instead of reaching for the bottle, we just admit it. Admit that it’s hard. That it’s messy. And maybe from that honesty, we find a way to build something from the chaos.

Keep on keepin’ on,
NB