Confessions of a Serial Reinventor

This article was originally published on More.com here.

Let me tell you something about this reinvention business: it’s not quite as simple as it sounds.

Whether you find yourself suddenly unemployed, an empty nester, or, like me, a serial reinventor, answering the question, “What are you going to do with the rest of your life?” can bring a lot of unwanted pressure. Don’t get me wrong, I know exactly how seductive the reinvention call can be. “Change Yourself in 10 Easy Steps!” “Discover Your Passion!” “Create the New You!” The messages are all but impossible to resist.

I always wanted to be Tiger Woods. Not literally, although his life isn’t so bad. I just longed for that unbeatable combination of fierce talent and relentless focus. Instead, I became a “dabbler”. It started when I was fifteen. Decisions about college were beginning to loom. I figured it was time to decide what I wanted to be when I grew up. After giving it an entire afternoon of serious thought, I announced to my mother that I wanted to join the Peace Corps. She burst out laughing. “You don’t even like people!” she chortled. She had a point. As a child, whenever friends came to visit my parents, I ran away and hid. Only the lure of cheese and crackers “for company” could bring me out. My dreams of saving Africa deflated, I retreated to my room to brood about other possible careers.

After four years of indecision as (what else?) a liberal arts major, I began to take the reinvention thing seriously. Since then, I have lived in five cities in four different states. My family likes to joke that when I get interested in a new place, I don’t just go there on vacation, I pick up and move. Who could resist the opportunity to create a new life out of thin air, in a place where no one knows that you’re a couch potato, socially inept, or unemployable? Believe me, change can be addictive.

For a long time, just moving and traveling to different places was enough to satisfy my thirst for change. In my thirties, I worked as a marketer in high tech and made great money. Then I decided that corporate life was not for me, and started a freelance communications business. Finally, I had the flexibility, independence and the variety I craved. It wasn’t enough.

Although I got married, I never wanted kids of my own. To me, that meant I had no excuses: I had to make a difference in the world. I had to be famous, fabulous and friend-worthy. I wanted to do something that would make my parents proud, put my small upstate New York home town on the map, and amaze my childhood friends. Okay, “friend”. Otherwise known as my little sister.“Follow your passion,” the advice gurus said. “Pick one thing, and do it well.” How did you pick one, I wondered? I had so many! I’d always wanted to be an international correspondent, reporting from exotic locations. Or a dog trainer. I adore food. And wine! Now, there’s a direction I could pursue with passion. Of course I didn’t really know anything about wine, I just liked to drink it.

I took up golf and became typically obsessed. Not satisfied simply to play, I launched a women’s golf magazine. For two years, I interviewed celebrities, learned from golf pros, and played some of the best courses in the country. But my timing was off, and the magazine eventually succumbed to the downward spiral in print advertising. It was okay. Starting it was most of the fun, and I was ready to move on. But to what?

For years I tortured myself trying to figure it out. Then I turned forty, and panicked. I had the entire second half of my life to live, and I didn’t want to blow it. So I did what I always do: I called my sister.

“You’re an idiot,” she told me. “You’ve accomplished so much. Why can’t you just enjoy being you?”

“You don’t understand, I have decide before it’s too late,” I argued. But as more years passed and my fortieth birthday receded, I began to realize she might be on to something. It wasn’t so much a “made for TV” moment as it was a slow relaxing of long-clenched teeth. Maybe I don’t have to decide, I thought. Was it possible that being interested in so many different things could be viewed as a strength instead of a weakness? Maybe trying new hobbies, discovering new places and meeting new people – and writing about them – is “my thing”. Who knew? I was living my “right life” all along!

I still admire the single-minded focus of a Tiger Woods. But for me, I’ve come to accept that there is no “one thing”. I’m interested in many things, and as a writer, I get to indulge my sense of curiosity, and then move on. I still find the idea of reinvention alluring, I just needed to redefine it. For me, that means I’ll continue to make my life up as I go along. And although it rarely fits into a well-defined category, it suits me just fine.

How about you?