Having been away from my hometown for years, I missed the opportunity to attend alumni reunions or homecoming events in two decades. Then the Alma Mater invited us to celebrate our 25th medical school graduation anniversary. Out of the original 30 medical students, the 18 of us that graduated together were a spirited group of dreamers, eager to make a difference in the world.
Upon arriving at the gathering, I faced a stark realization that time had indeed marched on. My peers resembled our former professors, not just because they had shed their student attire, but also because each were showing gray hair and a touch of middle-age paunch (not me, I thought). As they shared updates on the years gone by, a second intriguing revelation struck me. Each of them had realized their dreams while I was still navigating the world. Or, as a dear friend in their sixties put it, I was still figuring out what I wanted to be when I grew up. However, no matter how young I felt, I was undeniably an adult. I had been married (and subsequently divorced), raised a remarkable daughter, fulfilled my earlier promise to serve the less fortunate, crisscrossed my country, ventured into the publishing industry, contributed articles to various publications, was on the verge of publishing my first book, had traveled to Canada to become an art therapist, and established a non-profit focused on youth alongside an innovative school.
Choosing Art Therapy as a second career was driven by the desire to add a new approach to my work with young individuals. It also felt like the perfect moment to amalgamate all my passions: to converge the roles of healer, educator, and artist.
Until then, I had never echoed my parents’ concerns about the need to find a “stable and secure life.” Even though I hadn’t amassed much wealth, I was quite content with my learning process and achievements and felt my life had been exceedingly engaging, meaningful.
However, looking at my friends, it struck me how early, at 20 or 22, they had known exactly what they wanted for their lives. Now, in midlife, they appeared accomplished and prosperous.
I had reasons then to suspect that I was an adult grappling with attention deficit disorder. I even consulted my Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM), and some of the criteria did seem to apply. So, was there really something amiss with me? Even with this notion gnawing at me, I wouldn’t have rewritten a single word of my life’s narrative. It had been perfect just as it was, trials, tribulations, and all. I had learned abundantly, shared generously, and my life had always revolved around educating, healing, and writing. The uncertainty about anything else felt perfectly acceptable.
A few years prior to the gathering, fresh from Canada with a wealth of knowledge about mental health stereotypes (apologies: “diagnoses”), I vowed that, in order to become a “fully functional, stable adult,” the time had come for me to settle down. I would reside in the same place for more than the customary average of three to five years in one place, which had been my norm, and devote myself to a single specialty.
Was it truly feasible? Life, it seemed, had other plans for me. Although I did stay put for 13 years, I held three part-time jobs, ran a non-profit, and maintained a private clientele. And then, I relocated to the United States when circumstances grew challenging in my homeland. I started from scratch in Florida, and had to be really creative to make a living. I went to massage school so that I could continue to offer Reiki treatments (had recently become a Reiki Master), I became a Trager practitioner, I got my mental health license after a few years, I became a consultant for a massage school’s continuing education department, created a business to promote holistic healing, wrote for several publications, published a few books, and I opened a Holistic Center in Bonita Springs.
Over time, I came to truly value what I had gleaned from my myriad passions and occupations. I even discovered that there was a label for my type of personality, and that it had gained acceptance, even becoming trendy. They call us Renaissance souls. According to the person credited with coining the term, author Margaret Lobenstine (Secrets of the Renaissance Soul), adaptable souls like us stand a better chance of thriving in a world that’s very fluid. Our diverse passions and experiences have made us adaptable, resilient, and capable of offering more than just a narrow set of skills in the job market.