In a fundamental sense, I have changed very little since I was six years old. As a baby I would wail grievously when I was put down, and one certain way of calming me was to take me outside to see the trees and feel the wind. In elementary school I was kinetically busy and eminently distractible, but also capable of spending hours motionless, reading one of the collection of books I kept in my flip top desk. As a child I was very conscious of dressing to fit the situation I thought I would encounter that day, I became stressed in times of transition, and the surest outlet for my energy was to bike, climb, or run outdoors. I enjoyed snow, apples, and small carpentry projects; I disliked math, visits to the doctor, and haircuts.
Given that I still feel like the same curious, friendly, busy curly-haired boy I was 20 years ago, I don’t really understand why now I feel anxious about who I will be tomorrow or in 20 more years. I was a voracious reader as a kid, but my vocabulary has expanded with some choice phrases in the last few years: educational prestige, career trajectory, networking opportunity, and mission statement. Now every job I consider, city I move to or graduate school program I apply to feels like a bold act of self-definition, and my certainty and sense of self worth are more prone to fluctuation.
I believe that people are intrinsically fascinated by things that they do not understand. I feel like I have always wrestled with transition and plan making, but paradoxically I have built a career on these subjects. In the year after I graduated college I traveled in 14 different countries, and became adept at traveling light, sleeping on hostel beds or free couches, and throwing myself headlong into new cultures, food and languages. I feel uncertainty and self-doubt when making my own plans for the future. Nevertheless, I began my career in international development by piloting a behavioral psychology program that helped cash transfer recipients plan their future and anticipate obstacles. Much of my professional work revolves around decision making: being conscientious of the choice architecture that guides people’s actions, and understanding the value of coaching in successful plan making. Is it presumptuous of me to manage transition and decision making in other people’s interest, or do I have insight into these subjects because they perplex and fascinate me?
My mom tells me that when making decisions I should choose happiness, which is excellent but paralyzing advice. It’s hard to consider a number of diverging paths and ask yourself which one you will be the happiest to travel. Even once you have an inkling of which direction happiness lies, it’s hard to allow yourself to believe that it is a good criterion for making decisions. Choosing happiness sounds like an opportunity cost, and as I think about what makes me happy I get nervous about sacrificing income, prestige, or flexibility. I avoid choosing options that will limit my future options, even though that may be exactly what I need.
For all of my unease with identifying and preparing for the best possible outcomes for myself, I have learned that I am good at reacting to crises and obstacles. I think fast on my feet, and I handle situational stress well. I have survived a coup, a mugging at machete point, a series of rabies shots and a motorcycle crash. These are situations that reward doers more than thinkers: self-preservation is a more valuable instinct then self-reflection when you have a cliff behind you and a machete in front of you. When you’ve just been bitten by a Ugandan dog that may be rabid, your to-do list becomes very short.
I take comfort in the fact that my personality and affinities are so similar now to what they were when I was six years old—or six months old, for that matter. In the scheme of things, I remind myself, I have been fine before and I will be fine again. Along the way, even as I struggle to choose happiness, I find it sometimes all the same.
A Lion in the Path 