Hey everyone,
This iteration is inspired by a “just a number” birthday (32), what I wanted my 32-year-old life to look like, and using grounded imagination as a way forward.
It’s less visually stimulating than the last one, but stay tuned – we’re off to coffee country in the neighbourly state of Minas Gerais shortly 🚗☕️🇧🇷.
Thanks for being here and reading along. Keep in touch – leave a comment, send me a message, and if you like Postcards from Jodi why not share it?
Until next time. Blessings and beijos do Rio,
~ Jodi
When I was in grade three, a provocative banner with bubbly Comic Sans letters laced the perimeter of our classroom: “Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land amongst the stars.”
On one hand, the message is lovely: dream big. Go for what you really want because on your way there you’ll inevitably find something meaningful.
But.
It also tells us we ought to be on our way Somewhere Universally Important. It tells us if you try hard, it’s impossible to miss.
For much of our lives, our sense of direction comes from sequential grade school. We enroll in institutions for Higher Education. Or we don’t. No matter, suddenly we’re supposed to map out what’s next with Liberty at our grown-up fingertips. It’s easy to feel overwhelmed.
Like many of my friends at the time, as I approached the end of my undergraduate degree I had no idea what I wanted to do, felt pressure to go after things because People Said So and had collected enough debt to rule out a gap year in Southeast Asia (likely a silver lining). So that summer I did what a lot of 22-year-olds who are in love and not quite sure of what’s next do. I followed my boyfriend.
I got a job at lululemon athletica and as part of my onboarding I planned my future for the first time through a vision and goals exercise:
Pick 3-5 core values
Do a guided meditation envisioning yourself as a beam of light, extending beyond earth, and then returning, 10 years from now…
Ask yourself a whole bunch of questions – Who are you? What does your life look like? Where are you? What do you do? Who are you with? etc. etc. etc.
Break that future-self vision into 10, 3-5, and 1-year goals
Go do the things
Here’s how it came together (the full text is in addendum if you’re interested; names blacked out because Privacy)
Time has a funny way of happening.
A full decade later, almost to the day, I dusted off what I wanted my 32-year-old life to look like and read it aloud to my partner. Aside from the cliché (but still awesome) Nietzsche quote, the first thing that jumped out at me was how entrenched I was in what I had access to.
If culture is, as Michelle LaBaron and Venashri Pillar write in Conflict Across Cultures: A Unique Experience of Bridging Differences, “the way things are done around here” I was spitting out just that. Convention. But Marcos put it better: “you’re like a super gringa.”
The second thing that struck me was more interesting. Kernels of what I’ve only recently prioritized with a vengeance (a fundamental prioritization of creativity, learning, reading, creative writing, and travel) are embedded in there – including making my way to Brasil!
And the third, the most compelling: how pleasantly unbothered I felt with what I have and haven’t accomplished. The glorious disappointment of getting older.
We want what we do to mean something. We want to mean something.
Of course, what we’ve done (our ‘deeds’, as the existentialists put it) matter. But only up to Right Now.
Our past has a shelf-life.
"…there is no hope except in his action, and that the one thing which permits him to have life is the deed.” – Jean-Paul Sartre in Existentialism is a Humanism
Even if we’re fortunate enough to get to the proverbial moon, we quickly set our eyes on what’s next. And if for whatever host of circumstances, reasons, and institutional barriers, and limited capabilities we didn’t make it nor did we land amongst the stars but… elsewhere, it’s hard if not unbecoming to think the solution is to shoot for the moon again. Again. And again.
Trying to plan our future as if we’re the only thing that could get in the way is bullshit, but not trying is worse. Resignation is never the way to go.
For me, life is not about pushing ourselves to Dream Big And Go After It so much as it is about learning how to consistently accept where we’re at without judgment, with compassion, and respond from a place of spiritual agency. Agency reflective of the ways we’re limited by institutions, political structures, and intergenerational trauma beyond our control. Reflective of all the ways we’re human. I suffer, therefore I am.
Viktor Frankl’s work on this is unprecedented (so too are the endless references to his indispensable Man’s Search For Meaning… like this one). Maybe, so the story goes, we can find everything we need to create a meaningful life exactly where we are. Consciousness, God, Spirit, Soul – Something – will guide us.
Who knows.
But I do believe there’s something to feeling resourced by indisputable wholeness, rather than lack. Rather than an infinite yearning to Go. Get. To be on our way Somewhere Important.
Looking back, what’s ultimately striking about what I planned for my 32-year-old life is the capacity for imagining a future I had a discernible hand in chartering.
I’m tempted to write another 10-year vision so when I’m 42 I can experience (something) like this all over again. My personal experience tells me I have every reason to believe it will feel exceptionally phony then, just like it did this time around.
This is a bit of a deterrent.
But maybe glorious disappointment is our state of nature, especially the older and hopefully wiser and more compassionate we get. Or as the old Zen Buddhists saying reminds us:
“Before Zen, mountains were mountains and trees were trees.
During Zen, mountains were thrones of the spirits and trees were the voices of wisdom.
After Zen, mountains were mountains and trees were trees.”
Until next time - take good care.
Beijos e blessings do Rio,
~ Jodi
Addendum - My 10-year vision.
October 2021
32 Years Old.
I wake up to sunshine creeping in through the blinds too early in the morning. As usual, I postpone getting out of bed. I playfully hog even more of the blankets as I kiss the love of my life on the back of the neck, waking him up. He’s a morning person, and moves gently to whisper in my ear. His all-encompassing embrace and the conviction of his soft-spoken words send shivers down my spine. My stomach flutters. I’m physically overwhelmed with the connection we share. I cry a little. (Everyone who knows me knows that I cry a little most days). It might be the healthiest thing I do for myself.
Before I can get lost in this feeling, I feel a tug at the bed: our two year old (boy or girl, can never be too selective with these things) wants to join. I pick her up and she giggles. She enthusiastically tries to piece a sentence together about her teddy bear. I’m tickled and consistently taken aback by the love such a small person can give. I hop in the shower and think about the day ahead. For breakfast, dad is making waffles and fresh coffee. Our table is decorated with my home-made candles. Portraits of our family and friends and places we’ve visited around the world blanket the walls of our Vancouver home. I’m excited for this Saturday off. I’ve had a demanding week at the Family Law firm I’ve been working at for the past four years. To enjoy this day, we’re going to Stanley Park for a picnic with some friends. I’ve convinced most of my best friends from university to all move to Vancouver, like half of the Canadian population at this point in time. For the few who remained unconvinced, I’m still texting (or if I’m lucky, beaming to see them) to keep in regular communication. For the picnic, we’ve packed fresh veggies from our garden and wonderful foodstuffs. We’re having a potluck. Everyone knows food tastes better when it’s made by someone else you love. “Open mind, open mouth”, a culty-mantra I’ve come to repeat to ensure that adventure and exploration are values we uphold and physically practice.
After lunch and playing in the park, we say goodbye to our friends and as a family we begin to bike home. My husband and I are verbally planning an Alaskan cruise to celebrate the completion of my book titled “Everybody Make Mistakes”. A project I’ve been working on since my mid twenties. It’s about how through making mistakes we come to find, refine, destabilize, and build our character. There are no “mistakes” when you are authentically engaged in life – there is always value to experiences and the mistake is to hide from the fear of failure or the unknown. Life is a balance of letting go, and going all in. It’s somewhat autobiographical (I’ve made lots of mistakes) but it’s mostly a philosophical odyssey: why and how to cultivate adventure and risk in a way that perpetually makes your life meaningful, and know how it feels to live the life you choose.
We get back home to and call/Skype/beam the grandparents. Go to the grocery store for pickles, chocolate milk etc (I’m probably pregnant again, but I don’t know that yet). Finger paint. BBQ dinner on the patio. Dance. Do the dishes. Read nighttime stories. Cuddle to watch a movie. Laugh. Light candles. Romance. Snuggle under the covers with my handsome man who pushes me to my full potential, and who I support and care for from the bottom of my heart. But before drifting off to sleep, I take a deep breath. I’ve learned from practicing yoga and a cherished former boss that for always we have our breath to keep us at home and peaceful. Indeed, our breath might be the only relevant measurement for forever. As my mind wanders and my heart indulges in this perfect day, my breath soothes my spirit. I know that I’ve worked to create this reality and that’s the reason it means the world to me.
You had a hell of a ride. But wait, did you go to law school or graduate school?
And please tell me your Marcos was the boyfriend that you followed.