Buy Her Back
When naiveté is forced to transform into bravery.
About a decade ago, I sat across from my sister at a brewery in Montreal. I was in my early twenties and working for my first start-up. Everything was new and exciting. I felt like I’d won the new grad lotto.
My sister, who was a couple of years ahead, didn’t share the same enthusiasm.
Over hipster-priced pints, she explained that most people don’t like their jobs and that at age 25, she was fixing to retire.
I was taken aback. It felt inconceivable that being an adult meant living in paycheck captivity.
As I clutched onto my beer and current self-fulfillment, I felt sad for my fellow man. I poured one out for the disillusionment of my brothers and sisters.
Up to that point, I only felt lucky to go to work. Sure, there were mornings when I’d rather not bike up Rue Berri or poo in a public washroom, but that was insignificant.
Within the boundaries of safe dreaming, I had everything: opportunity, mentorship, and a newfound savings account. I was on the better end of the bargain.
Becoming an adult, marred by apathy and sedentary carbs, seemed so distant. Like becoming an addict or child entertainer, it was hard to imagine how things could slip so far.
In the years that have followed, I’ve transported myself back to this dimlit bar conversation. From today’s vantage, it feels so young. And heartwarmingly naive.
As we come to learn, slopes become slipperier, choices compound, and life goes on with or without us. If we don’t have a laser focus and pea-sized filter, distractions trickle through. We discover that it’s easier to fall off track than it is to stay on—especially when we’re not fully sure what we’re searching for.
Before we know it, we’re spending 40+ hours a week in, “It’s not that bad!”; “I get three extra vacation days this year!”; and “Sure, the place smells like fish sticks, but the people are nice!”.
Similar to the COVID lockdown, our aversion to shittiness gradually rounds off and wears down.
Suddenly, we’re driving across the country in silence with a broken radio. We stare out the window at livestock and rocks for two full work days and alarmingly, are not bored. Our filter for what is acceptable has enlarged to the size of Subway Jared’s “before” jeans.
We don’t realize that we’ve built up a tolerance for off-brand bullshit. This is until something comes over us and we decide to teleport back to the bar and spend some time with our all-feeling, twenty-something self.
We explain to our bright-eyed girl where we’ve been. We say something about good people, mention the solid paycheck, and stop ourselves just shy of the fish sticks.
We can see it on her face: we’ve let her down.
We failed to protect our optimistic, live-wire self who couldn’t fathom settling. Instead, like the many “goods” before us, we skipped rocks toward the “next best thing”. We grew to be okay with okay, and let comfort take the lead.
Before we go, we explain to her that we’re at a crossroads. We admit that we’re afraid of failure and making the wrong move. Mostly, we’re scared of letting more “meh” through our dangerously large filter.
For the first time, we recognize her naivete as a superpower. But like our youth, naivete comes with an expiration date. Our next chapter will require bravery.
We cover her bill, and if we could buy more of her back, we would.
This will take a couple of reads but it has really struck a chord. 🤓❤️🐣