22: Don’t Ask Permission

“I was waiting for something extraordinary to happen but as the years wasted on, nothing ever did unless I caused it.” - Charles Bukowski

Today’s blog post is going to be a bit more personal in hopes of dispelling some level of small wisdom I’ve accrued over my short time on this earth, and maybe also make someone else feel less alone. I am here with you, too. 

I graduated with my Bachelor’s degree in English literature in December 2022. That’s three years later than it was “supposed” to be, because I learned early into my college career a LOT of what was wrong with the education system--along with the greater world--and dropped out. I was completely disillusioned with the majority of the way the world worked. The more I learned, the more I wanted to revolt! I felt misunderstood, angry, and deeply saddened by the state of affairs as they were. I felt like I didn’t want to be a part of a world that was disingenuous, greedy, systemically failing, unequal, or dysfunctional. I was getting A’s! That wasn’t the problem. I was part of a system I felt was robbing American scholarship from itself.

I didn’t want to borrow tens of thousands of dollars to live in a dorm and navigate the small politics of greek life, general education requirements, and a spray painted great lawn without a plan in mind. But where else was there to go?

My naivete told me ANYWHERE, just get out of this whole “college thing” first--my mind dubbed it all a monumental act of predatory lending that I was allowed to go in the first place on such vast amounts of borrowed money. I won’t ever forget discovering the woe-making sound of Mitski as the Winter descended upon CNU’s campus in the fall semester of 2017. There was a dumpster behind my dorm building that touted the words “college is a scam” in red spray paint, a daily reminder on my walks back to a dark bedroom that faced a parking garage. I contemplated the height of that parking garage more than I’d like to admit to myself, even now.

I remember a level of disengagement I had never felt in my entire life up until that point. I remember the feeling of absolute disrepair, a feeling of a gray and heaving doom. It was like pulling back light-blocking curtains to try to face the day only to keep finding another layer, after another, after another. I couldn’t get through to myself anymore.

I called my mom shortly before finals and told her I’d stopped going to most of my classes. I told her I didn’t care what happened with school anymore, that I hated it there. She told me to just come home. So I did. I am forever grateful for the reaction she had that day and for the privilege of having parents that only ever wanted what was best for me, even if they were scared, too.

The reason I am sharing this part of my story is that it was a turning point in the entire trajectory of my life. That decision informed everything after. That decision was terrifying. It went against everything I’d been told to do, everything I was told was the “right” thing to do. I had done everything right and still felt like something was wrong. I was lacking a level of personal freedom that I desperately needed to explore and, ultimately, discover myself. 

Growing up I was the “golden child”. I was the middle child. I always got good grades without much effort. I was quiet, inquisitive, bookish, creative, and obedient to a fault. There’s a video of me at my 6th or 7th birthday party watching everyone else play with my new toys without protest as I stood off in a corner. I had learned that if I was to take up space, it was so that others could benefit. I was supposed to be the one who went to a flashy school and graduated with honors to go on to do something impressive. When I dropped out of school the first time (ha, yes, there were another two different academic institutions after that), I threw that entire prescribed identity away. I stripped it all off and decided nobody would impose who I would be upon me again. I decided to take back my gifts and declare it was my turn. I was no longer asking.

This brings me to the general set of ideas that seem to inform everything I now do: Don’t ask for permission. Just try. Nothing is permanent. 

The reason I even started this blog was because I hadn’t found consistent freelance writing work or a full time remote writing job. I want to write, so I do it anyway. I do it so I don’t get rusty. I do it because I love it. I love learning and sharing ideas in an articulated way, but I no longer wait for permission. I no longer wait for anyone else to give me the means to have a voice under their parameters, their timeline, at their market price. 

I pay $30 a month to have this website. It has a sprinkling of Google ads that maybe rake in a whopping 20 cents a month, an amount that has to accrue to $100 before I can be paid out. But, God, I am having a lot of fun practicing my writing here. I LOVE to read and write book reviews. I love to do research and compile my findings and thoughts in a public forum. I feel like I have an endless stream of ideas and images bounding through the expansive fields of my mind. If I don’t let them out, I lose them. The stream weakens.

Writing and painting keep me in touch with that stream of creativity. It is there and it will never go away. It is innate to my being and I am compelled to share it from whatever invisible force it hails from. Leaning In (this blog) is a way of honoring my gifts. I cannot honor my gifts without sharing them. 

I am here, now, to tell you something. Your gifts matter. You are reading this because you are meant to. I believe we each have something beautiful to offer this world, as long as we follow what our gut tells us. As long as we listen to that weird disembodied whisper in the back of our heads. It is there for a reason. 

It reminds me of a quote by Ram Dass, “As long as you have an ego, you are on a limited trip.  You’re on a little trivial trip that’s going to last roughly 60 years, 70 years, 80 years, wrought with fear of the end, trying to make its own eternity. Being is dying by loving. Something in you must die and something new must be born.”

I did eventually graduate. I also moved to the beach. For years I dreamed of living by the ocean, writing, and painting. And now that’s what I do. I wasn’t “ready”, but I made leaps anyway. I no longer passively let life happen to me. I continually question everything. I actively decide what’s next and I don’t ask permission to live a life that’s mine. A life I’m grateful to have. A life not everyone gets to have as much agency over.

I hope if you take anything away from this, it’s to not wait for permission. Just try. The worst you can do is fail, and “the credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena”, as Roosevelt famously said, “who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

I dare you to do the scary thing.

Thank you for reading! 

Please leave a comment if this connects with you in some way.

With love, Gab