On Making Decisions and Having Regrets

I don’t know what I’m doing.

How many times in the past two years have I said this or some variation of it? How many times in the past two years have I felt like I made mistakes or I regret the decisions that I made? Too many.

I don’t believe that cheesy line about how there really are no regrets in life, just adventures. That’s not true. We always regret. We always wish for change and for newness—for the other choice. Especially when the road we’ve chosen seems harder than we anticipated. Maybe this is a really cynical view to hold. I’m always up for an adventure, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t have regrets.

Here are a few things I sometimes regret:

· Going to divinity school instead of library science school

· Studying religion in grad school instead of history

· Working in nonprofit

· Becoming an event planner

· Taking my current job

· Not taking on more internships in college

· Not networking enough

· Not moving when I had the chance

The list goes on and on and on. And it varies from day to day. Most days I’m glad I went to divinity school. It’s a weird choice, sure, I know that, but I’m a better person for it. And I’ve never once regretted the things I learned there.

Most days I don’t regret any of that stuff. Some days I regret other stuff. Smaller stuff. Like not saying I’m sorry to my partner before I leave home in the morning if we had a fight the night before. Like waiting too long to do my laundry and I having to wear smelly workout clothes to the gym (don’t pretend you’ve never done that). Like telling myself in the morning before I leave for work that I’m not that hungry, I don’t need to take a big lunch, and then feeling like I’m starving three hours later.

I don’t want to regret things, but sometimes I do. I don’t think we can ever really live life without regrets. At least small ones. My current regret is my job. I like my job, for the most part. But it’s in the wrong place. Before I got the job, my partner and I were talking seriously about leaving Nashville and heading a little closer towards home, a little closer to our families. But then I was offered my job. It is a good job. It has great benefits. It’s what I had been working so hard towards. How could I say no? How could I turn it down?

So I took it, and a year later we are still thinking about moving. Do I quit my job? It’s a question that isn’t as simple as it sounds. I work as an event planner and the events I’m currently planning are in 2018 and 2019. In other words, I’m supposed to be in it for the long haul.

It’s a weird place to be, trapped in a job that you only kind of like and trapped in a city that feels less and less like home every day.

When I was searching for a job I felt certain that when I got it I would feel like I was whole, like I knew what I was doing. Like all my regrets about moving or not moving would disappear. I thought I would have everything under control and life would magically work itself out. But life never magically works itself out. It takes hard work and tough decisions. Life is full of regrets, some small, some big. It’s my choice if I let those regrets rule my life. It’s my choice to spend time looking behind instead of ahead. I don’t know where I’m going next. I don’t know if I’ll make the right decisions. But maybe that is okay. Maybe there are no such things as a right or wrong decision. Maybe there are just… decisions.

[Photo by Juliette Kibodeaux.]

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The End of An Era: Saying Goodbye to Windrose

Hi friends,

Announcement (sounds so formal, doesn’t it?):

It's the end of an era.

I’ve decided that, after nearly 8 years of telling stories of navigating life, this season of Windrose is drawing to a close.

Even Here: Words for When You're Wandering

When I was 22 years old, I visited the desert for the first time.

A metaphorical desert, if we’re getting technical.

I was fresh out of college, starry-eyed and eager to begin my post-grad life. I had big ‘ole me-centered dreams: a shiny, brag-worthy PR job in the music industry! An apartment with an exposed brick wall that (somehow) would fit an upright piano! A committed relationship with a kind, goofy man!

I got exactly none of those things.

To summarize an entire year’s worth of emotion: I was devastated.

What is Home?

Late last night, I flew back into town after a week away, the city lights covering the Valley like a blanket of incandescent flowers. I’ve flown into Phoenix at least a dozen times at this point. Usually, I can identify a handful of landmarks, like my antenna-scarred South Mountain or the twinkling lights of the bridges spanning Tempe Town Lake.

Flying into Nashville, however, was always different.

I Don't Live Here Anymore

I recently returned to Nashville for the first time since moving to Phoenix five months ago.

Before my reunion, I often said that the word “home” could apply to both Nashville and Phoenix. Nashville is my home. Phoenix is my home. I could find that home-sweet-home feeling in both cities.

During my 8 days back, I frequented my old haunts. The brickwalled coffee shop still serves the meanest mocha in town. The hillside winery still proves to be a worthwhile spot to sip away a sunny Sunday afternoon. The hip burger joint still offers a lovely evening to dine with friends, new and old. The lime-green Mexican restaurant on the corner of Whitebridge still feels like a queso-soaked refuge.

There were many “stills,” but there were changes, too.

Why did you move?

A cardstock print sits propped against the lamp on my desk: a taupe watercolor swipe outlining a peakside Saguaro, the sun a tiny ring above. Beneath this minimalist illustration are these words in typeface: “I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”

I happened upon this notecard-sized print on the way out of a shop last weekend, after already having completed another purchase. It was the last print of its kind in the pile. I had to have it. I returned to the cashier: “This one, too.”

You see, this verse has been a thread weaving through my story, simple words spoken by a prophet long dead, a passage of comfort I’ve returned to again and again since my pilgrimage to the desert four years ago, when I inked a cactus on my wrist.

The Good Old Days

Last week was National Margarita Day.

I did not, however, celebrate the holiday. Truthfully, I’ve yet to find THE Mexican place here in Phoenix. You know the one: gaudy decorations, cheap food, even cheaper margaritas.

But there’s a Mexican restaurant at the corner of Charlotte and Whitebridge in Nashville, TN.

You may have heard of it.

Witching Hour (or, Fighting Off Demons at 3 am with a Box Cutter)

Between the hours of 3 - 4 am, I find myself awakened by nothing in particular. The room is silent. There is no sound outside. No loud car horns. No dogs barking.

I’m upset.

I wish it was something other than just me. Then I could stop it. Nothing is to blame. It feels like moments have passed since I closed my eyes. The moments of a long dreamless sleep last about 4 hours.

10 Life Lessons This Cross-Country Move is Attempting to Teach Me

There are a few lessons life has attempted to teach me since my move — all things that I haven’t yet spiced up into a full essay, but deserve to be memorialized by my metaphorical pen nonetheless.

So I present a collection of lessons I’ve learned — and am still learning — in the last 3 months.

What Will Your Life Look Like?

Tomorrow marks 3 months.

Three months here, sharing a zip code with Saguaros.

“So how is Phoenix?” a friend asked me over the phone as I sat on my balcony beneath glowing string lights, a pour of raspberry wine in my hand. The sun was setting, painting the eastern mountains with rosy swipes of redemption.

How has Phoenix been these last three months?

What is it Trying to Tell You, if Only You’d Listen?

I went on a date recently. Two glasses of Riesling, pleasant conversation, and a perfectly amicable guy — it was an altogether fine evening.

However, I wasn’t interested in a second date.

Not because of any run-for-the-hills red flags. Not because I didn’t think he was cute. Not because we didn’t get along. I simply — wasn’t interested.

There’s no better way to explain it. No fear-based avoidance of the potential for a healthy relationship. No disdain for commitment that needs a heavy round of therapy to work through. Nothing deeper than the inner sense that a second date just wasn’t necessary.

But, I said yes to getting dinner again with him.

The Other Side of Yes

I’m a No Girl.

In many ways, this is a good thing. I’m able to confidently decline invitations that disinterest me.

“Want to go whitewater rafting?” No thank you, I’m comfy right here on the bank.

“Want to do a shot?” No thank you, I’ll take my liquor with lime juice and Triple Sec, plz.

“Want to try this carrot cake?” No thank you, Harry, I can’t eat gluten.

“Want to go to Broadway?” No thank you, I’d prefer to go to bed.

In many ways, however, being a No Girl originates less from personal boundaries and more from fear. Fear and I happen to be pretty tight; we talk on the daily. Fear has been the primary consultant for many of my life decisions, in fact.

A Song for Growth

A year ago, a friend of mine got a job at a well known tech company. He had been slogging through the interviews, and he finally got an offer. Obviously he deserved it. He was a hard worker, and his attitude for success and life was admirable to say the least. I knew he was beyond qualified.

But at the time, I was on a career path I couldn’t see myself being happy in. I had made the mistake of staying in the industry mainly for the money. Every month in the industry was a reminder of how much I did not want to stay. It created a nasty cycle of overthinking and career angst. Feelings of inadequacy and existentialism rooted themselves deep inside me. I couldn’t focus on anything and was utterly disconnected from the work I was doing.

I admit I wasn’t happy for him.

Career, LifeJulia NusbaumNovember 12, 2016Comment

On Making Decisions and Having Regrets

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