The Wormhole 001

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the role that choice plays in our lives. Especially as a woman raised in the US, I’ve been taught that the freedom to make your own choices is a human right. (We all know it’s really a privilege.) In the last few years, I’ve made some major life choices that I’m very proud of: I moved from New York City and bought a house in a small town along the Hudson River, I started my own consulting business, and I gave birth for the first time. And yet some days, my life feels like a barrage of shitty little reactions to imperfect circumstances. Like I can’t quite get in the driver’s seat of this new life I’m building.

I think it’s easy and natural to question big life choices when they don’t turn out exactly as you’d imagined. Learning how to face and process unintended consequences is a big part of life. In my 20s, when things started to go awry, my impulse was to move— move neighborhoods, cities, even countries. But in this phase of life, I’m tired of moving. The decisions I’ve made are in an effort to ground myself. So I’ve been reflecting a lot on the trade-offs I made to get to where I am and how to weave back in some of the things that make me me, so I can eventually blend my different selves into one fabulous super-self.

Big life choice #1

Before going independent, I often felt that I couldn’t be myself at work. I contorted and hid parts of myself to perform as the perfect employee. Beloved by my bosses, respected by my peers, I slowly ascended the corporate ladder. But I had alienated important parts of myself. By the age of 30, I had no idea what I was good at or what I was working toward. Eventually, I was consumed by social anxiety and burnout. At one point, I had to take propranolol just to speak in a meeting without my voice shaking or losing my vision. And then a common ending in 2020: I got laid off. Working for myself didn’t feel like some empowered entrepreneurial move. Honestly I felt I had no other choice. Even still, I promised myself that I wouldn’t lead this severed existence. I wanted my personal identity and values to take the lead.

Freelance has become a continuous experiment in rebuilding my sense of self. With every client, my confidence grows, I learn new skills, I practice setting boundaries, and I hone my unique perspective. As a freelancer, I can design a work life that suits me. I build variety into my days. My client relationships are based on mutual love and respect. My work matters deeply to me (perhaps more than ever), and I refuse to alienate myself again. The irony is that in reconnecting with myself, I’ve disconnected from the social fabric of employment. Even more ironically, upon getting laid off, I wrote about my Masters thesis on the importance of designing belonging into a company’s operations. I’m part of some supportive networking groups and often partner with other freelancers. This gives me deeper connection in doses, but freelance by nature can be quite lonely.

Big life choice #2

Two years ago, my husband and I moved to the small town of Wappingers Falls in New York’s Hudson Valley. We live on a beautiful farm-based community alongside a few other families. For me, moving here signified a choice to ground myself and heal from years of burning the candle at both ends, to trade in my career-obsessed and party-loving life for a calmer, more focused, and healthier one. It was also a choice to lay the foundation for starting our family. But it wasn’t until I made the move that I realized what a compromise I’d really made. I left behind a vibrant community of friends in the city. I’m a natural connector and extrovert, so I’m confident I’ll form lasting friendships here. But it will take time, and until then,

With time, I’m confident I’ll form lasting friendships here. I couldn’t be prouder having made these major life choices, but there’s also so much to be proud of I was far from perfect, totally imbalanced, but a community builder at heart.

Big life choice #3

My recently renovated ideas of career success have been challenged once again as I move through another portal: motherhood.

My son just turned one and I’m still only working part-time. I expected to be back full-time when he was four months old. Remember that nice idea about my identity and values taking the lead? Now that includes a whole other human extension of myself and his unpredictable needs. I couldn’t find a qualified full-time nanny. He didn’t take a bottle for months. He cried incessantly with anyone but me. I couldn’t fathom sending him to daycare. I suffered postpartum anxiety and isolation. My brain felt soaked in hormones and I couldn’t trust it to make a decision about anything not baby-related. There’s a voice in my head that tells me to shut up because I’m so privileged not to have to work full-time and that I get to spend this precious time with my son. My husband and friends say, “Well, as long as you feel like it’s your choice that you’re not going back to work full-time...” But I can’t even tell what’s been my choice anymore. I often wonder if motherhood (and caregiving in general) is at odds with freedom of choice altogether.

Now that the tether between me and my son has more slack, I’ve been trying to reconcile the work I did to build a business with the work I’m now doing to raise a child. In choosing one, I feel I’m ignoring the other. I’ve even considered applying for full-time roles just so someone else can impose structure and make choices for me. I’ve also considered becoming a stay-at-home-mom for good because my husband’s career is currently skyrocketing and this makes mine feel even more trivial. But most likely, I’ll send my son to daycare earlier than I expected and ramp up to full-time, creating a boundary I didn’t think either of us was ready for. Sometimes it feels like there are only wrong answers.

What is choice without community or care?

Choice feminism is a popular contemporary approach to uplifting women, but I worry it puts too much emphasis on individualism and not enough on the systems of support we need to see our choices through.

In my feminist pursuit, I worry that I’ve rendered myself lonely and alone— which is inherently anti-feminist. When my mom was my age, she had far fewer choices than I do today. She and my dad moved to London in search of opportunity, while their family and friends were either back home in India or had moved to the United States. When she gave birth to me, she was back to work after four weeks postpartum and I was formula-fed and in daycare. Unsurprisingly, she also recounts being lonely and alone. When I think of the contexts in which women and mothers in particular thrive: what is choice without access to community and care?

What we all need to thrive

I truly believe it’s a skill to learn to make the right choices for yourself, a delicate balance of experience, research, and instinct. But the task of seeing that choice through to fruition, dealing with the consequences, and celebrating the outcomes— that’s no solo task. It requires hands-on help and social support.