Life Transition at 40: I'm Still Learning Which Voice is Mine

Port St. Lucie, Florida is boring and bland in every way. And somewhere along the way, this is what I asked for: a clean slate to finally listen to the sound of my own thoughts and know.

Know what? No clue yet.

How we get here

It was around this time last year, in my 9-to-5, that I started to feel disconnected from life. I attended each meeting overwhelmed and constantly fell behind on my action items. I wasn’t working in any of the areas I cared about or where my creativity could shine. Worse, I was stressed day and night, so much so that I would go to bed rehearsing a meeting in my head and wake up continuing the conversation as if sleep had never happened.

My sense of Self was being muted one “let’s circle back” at a time.

Even my personal life was affected. I stopped loving the twinkling city skylights and the charismatic rhythm of downtown Chicago. My high-rise condo, once a source of pride, began to feel like a burden. I’d come home after a walk and all I could notice was the small leak, the burned-out kitchen track light, the loose doorknob that wouldn’t stay put no matter how many times I screwed it back.

Nine years ago, I realized I actually didn’t want to climb any corporate ladders. But I stayed, partly because “it’s the responsible thing to do” and partly because the salary at the time felt unreal to me. Gradually, I recognized that I’d rather use my time to develop my talents and discover the ones I hadn’t yet met.

Still, I stayed.

But I kept praying for some kind of rescue.

I'd ask for time so I could finally stop, breathe deeply, and be guided. I wanted to know what might happen if I listened instead of trying to (wo)man up. What if I surrender control and let myself be led for once? I didn’t want to plan anything anymore, not even brunch.

It took about nine months of asking. Then, it happened.

“Hey, Emi. You are being laid off,” HR said.

Well, I got what I wanted.

I am numb.

And now, I am in Port St. Lucie.

I asked for Silence. I didn't expect to hear so much.

Slowly, the uproarious thoughts and voices started to rumble in my head. I’m not even sure who’s talking so much in there. They are distracting. Am I entertaining the distractions, or is anxiety creeping in and the distractions are trying to cover it up?

“Now what, dear?” I've asked myself that more than once. “What did you want your life to look like? Who did you want to hear?”

“I’m not sure,” I murmured.

There's always a gathering in my head. I’m learning to know which one is mine. Which one is my dad? Which one is my mom? Which one is the future me, the one who has already figured all of this out? Which one is my protector, encouraging me to slow it all down and trust? Which is the saboteur, demanding progress reports? Which one is the little girl within who has only just started to trust me enough to ask me for protection?

“You.” I continued shakily.

“Maybe… I wanted to know Your voice. I wanted to hear what You actually want in this life.”

And every time I make that request, I draw a blank. But surely, a sign will come.

“You know that if you let me, I can blow your mind with what I can do for you, right?” I heard.

“What? Who whispered that? Hello.”

Silence.

Life Transition at 40

I used to write in my journal and visualized. I even joked about running away. At 40, imagine that! I tell you this, after four decades of “you must always have a plan,” I’m tired. Subconsciously, I guess I was being pulled to a different way of living.

Maybe that's what life transition at 40 is really asking of me. It’s time I choose to trust, and stillness is needed for that. Enough stillness to understand what Jesus meant in John 14:12 (NLT). Though, respectfully, Sir, I am trying to “do the same and even greater works,” but how can I do that when I can’t even hear Me over the crowd?!

I came to Port St. Lucie to listen. I didn’t know that I had to tune each instrument first. The anxious voice, likely accompanied by its usual entourage, is pulling on every chord.

“Well, since you don’t have an answer, let’s go back to job hunting, and set an ETA for this journey,” it proposed.

“No way! Not until I get answers from… Me! Not until I hear my real voice.” I retorted. “Plus, I’m not sure where I’ll be next year. But definitely, I should be living abroad… Somewhere. Somewhere nice. Warm, lush, abundant… I should be happy. With someone. Someone who loves me. Someone I trust enough to follow. Maybe with kids. Or no kids. I don’t know that part yet. Either way, I should be… Home.”

That’s all I keep responding with whenever this timeline question comes up. That’s the extent of the vision. It’s cloudy, I know.

“Ah, you’ve given yourself a year. Good. What steps are you taking to get there?” It asked.

“Steps? Oh, I haven’t taken any. Also, I’ve reported you to the Most High. And I’ll continue to do so every time you creep up on me.” I'd reply.

On the days when I slow down enough, this works beautifully. Those are the days when I question every incoming thought and report it. Then, that voice fades pretty quickly. But on the days when I don’t pay attention, its advice sounds like the responsible thing to do.

I'm Still Learning which Voice is Mine

In this practice of listening, I thought I developed a sense of control over the noise. Now that silence is all around me, all I hear is dissonance. I guess the first verse to my prayers has been revealed: my life was completely atonal.

Maybe the courage isn’t in knowing exactly where I’m going next. Maybe the courage is in staying still long enough to hear Who to follow and where to go.

Maybe even the beautiful life I imagine abroad, with a loving, faithful, chocolate husband, is another script I’ve inherited.

And maybe, for the first time in a long time, I’m learning that not having all the answers doesn’t mean I’m lost. It might simply mean I’m finally quiet enough to receive.

FIN