Several years ago I read an article titled “Escaping Poverty Requires Almost 20 Years With Nearly Nothing Going Wrong” by Gillian White. This article was the inspiration for my blog post on “escaping” poverty, a feat which I have now been dedicating myself to for twenty years.

This summer, twenty years ago, was the moment when I decided that I had to dedicate myself to my education in order to get a well-paying job, and provide a comfortable, stable life for myself and my potential future children. Since then I can’t say that nearly nothing has gone wrong, but I had an incredible amount of support from my extended family and community, and I know that I have done my best effort to do things the “right” way on my climb up the steep cliff face of socioeconomic status in the land currently known as the United States.

It’s ironic that I find myself here, experiencing unemployment for the first time since 2015, this time not entirely at my will. A couple of months ago my former employer decided to eliminate my position and offered me severance. And instead of panicking and rushing to find any other option for a job, as I might have a few years ago, I have decided to just pause.

At this point, I would say that I’ve achieved a status to be proud of. I am a college graduate, a homeowner, I have no debt aside from that pesky student loan the government hasn’t forgiven yet, higher-than-average savings, a diversified stock portfolio, a retirement account. I live in a two-income household, have access to reliable transportation and fresh food & water, and can afford to buy new clothes and shoes and home decor when I want to. I can even go on vacation to cities where I don’t know anyone and stay in hotels, occasionally. And yet here I am, with no job and few prospects.

After twenty years of tireless effort, at school, then at school and work, then at work, after so much support and so much “going right,” so much doing “right,” I’ve realized that I sacrificed so much of what I want for the sake of what society has told me is “right.” I wanted a good job, so in 3rd grade I dedicated my life to doing well in school so I could go to college. In 8th grade some project came up in English class that asked me to pick a career. I liked to write, so I figured I should be a journalist and I dedicated my life to that. At 20 I graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in journalism, convinced by then that I did not want to be a journalist. Soon after I recognized the issue of educational inequity and I dedicated my life to that. At 25 I bought a condo, qualifying with the comfortable-living-wage salary I had obtained in my comfortable nonprofit job. I found myself farther along on my journey, higher up on the cliff face than I had imagined myself getting to at such a young age. And I learned that, the farther up you get, the easier the journey seems to become. Still, I found myself feeling like something was missing, like I had forgotten part of myself somehow. I struggled to find a way to continue my journey, reach even greater heights, while still dedicating myself to saving the world.

It wasn’t until a few months ago that I realized it is not my responsibility to save the world. That realization opened my mind up to a truth that I have long been ignoring: my only responsibility is to be true to myself. To find my light and live in it. Twenty years of doing everything “right” led me to achieve upward socioeconomic mobility, but it also had me miserable in a dead-end job, consistently underpaid and, eventually, laid off.

I can’t help but wonder what might have happened had, instead of doing what was “right,” I had been brave enough to pursue my dreams. What if I had gone to my 8th grade English teacher and said I wanted to write novels and poetry and movies and TV shows? What if I had dedicated myself to learning how to do that? Instead I have toiled away in the nonprofit industrial complex, convincing myself that I was doing the “right” thing, while I hide my poetry in my notebooks and only jokingly refer to writing books and movies and TV shows. I never allowed myself to believe that I could have both. That I could do what I want, not just what others tell me is “right,” and still achieve upward socioeconomic mobility.

Have I outrun the shadow of poverty enough to pause and take a breath? Am I in a comfortable enough position to allow myself to dream? I can’t be sure, and I would be lying if I said that the thought of not working, not having a consistent direct deposit hitting my bank account, doesn’t scare the crap out of me. I am grateful to have a partner to lean on, to have all of the comforts and conveniences that I worked so hard to access. And I am grateful for the ways in which I have been coming back to myself. Grateful for the hours of therapy that have enabled me to shed the layer of fear that pushed me to bury my dreams. Grateful for the birth chart reading that confirmed the truth in the dream that I had buried. Grateful for the community college course that enabled me to see the reality of creative writing as a profession.

I picture myself now on a ledge upon this cliff face that is wide enough so that it has plenty of room to rest, and even sustains some edible plants. There is shade and a spring. Instead of moving along with my climb, I am choosing now to pause. I recognize that after 20 years of working tirelessly to achieve this stability and security, I need rest. I need time and mental and emotional space to ponder what I want to work toward next.

Last summer I had an idea for a novel that I’d like to write, and over the last year I have written several thousand words, fleshed out more characters, plot points, and timelines, than I ever thought I could. I am hoping to finish this novel in the next six months, and will be seeking an agent and publisher within the year. I plan to start compiling my first book of poetry in the next few months. I also have several ideas for movies and television shows that I’d like to write. Children’s movies inspired by my dog and family stories, dramatic TV shows that cover millennia of human history, maybe even a stand-up special one day. From this ledge I can see so many more possibilities, so many more pathways onward, than I ever knew existed.

I am pitching a tent, hanging a hammock, and creating space for myself to just lay back and dream. To let my shoulders ease back and away from my ears, to release some of the tension in my neck that has built up over my years spent climbing, pushing myself to achieve ever more. I know that I will have to continue eventually, and I am open to considering all of the options and possibilities out there, to finally releasing the idea that I must do everything “right.”