For it only being Wednesday, a few sizable tomatoes have been hurled in the direction of my life’s half-hearted stage performance. Who’s throwing them is TBD, but in the midst of shaking off their red, seedy juices, I have elected to not give a fuck.
On April 3rd, it was business as usual. I checked my office mailbox to find this month’s issue of Advancing Philanthropy magazine. Typically relegated to the Forgotten Zone of my desk, I decided to give it a once-over in case anything topical called me to action. I guess I do care about my career and stuff.
On the back was an ad for Harvard Business School. “Your job is to make the world better. Ours is to help you do it.” Surely an enticing message for any nonprofit professional. Among the course listings was Performance Measurement for Effective Management of Nonprofit Organizations, May 28-31, 2019. I darted to my computer to check it out. According to the course description, one could expect the following:
- A graduate certificate from Harvard Business School (I’ll take it)
- No formal education required, but admission based on accomplishment and organizational responsibility (I’ve got it)
- Preference given to those with an organizational budget of over $1 million (I am personally responsible for over that amount within a $5 million budget. Undoubtedly a shoe-in!)
- Applications should be submitted at least one month before the course start date (Good as gold)
I told my bosses I was interested, but only if I was eligible for scholarship funding. They responded that night that they’d happily foot the $4,800 bill and help with my application. I submitted within the hour.
Catching this ad on the back of a magazine that would normally collect dust felt serendipitous. Openly unsure about my life’s path for the past two years, I thought this was a sign that fundraising was where I’m meant to stay, and that all I needed was the kind of re-energizing exclusive to academia.
Two weeks later, I was denied. All manifestations of wandering around Cambridge, being immersed in the famed HBS case study model, and learning new ways to improve my craft, and more importantly, improve society through philanthropy came crashing from my eyes in heavy sobs. My résumé would remain ivy-less, and on spins the loop of reinforced inadequacy.
That same day, I was already gutted as I carefully blueprinted my breakup from my boyfriend. Out of respect for someone I love, I won’t explain the why in forensic detail. But I will say this: no amount of therapy, medication, and focusing on the good can overcome the strain of fundamental differences. Relationships are work, but when you’re counting the good days and convincing yourself that they’re indicative of the overall situation—like when an unhealthy person lives in delusion because one day, three weeks ago, they ate kale—things. are not. sustainable. In true cowardice, I begged for him back immediately to no avail. We ended on good terms, but my heart hurts nonetheless.
The challenge of modern breakups is the pressure to be excited about your freedom. People are marrying late or forgoing it altogether, and to admit that you want that for yourself and hate the idea of starting from square one feels unenlightened. Like I missed this one particular boat on the fleet of progress and I need to be happy alone. But the thing is, I am happy alone. I don’t long for company when I lay down to sleep. I just happen to believe romance the apex of life, and thus I lead with my heart (and vagina). I’m going to be 28 in July. The idea of dating again feels so daunting that my eyes welled up just typing this.
- Me: How can I possibly vibe with another human the way I do him?
- Also me: Well, Dia, kind reminder that you’ve asked yourself that three other times before this since age 16, and look how that turned out.
In my last piece, I talked a bit about effortlessness. I know myself and that the energetic magnetism I need from another person will strike me when I least expect it. Onward and upward for us both.
I’ve felt a lot of pain the last couple days. Pain that hasn’t subsided altogether, but that I can feel working its way out of my system like a case of the flu. I’ve made plans and bailed on them. I’ve tried to execute work tasks and couldn’t. It’s all part of a process with which I am highly familiar.
I’m not the kind of insufferable optimist who unsheathes my sword of feigned positivity in the face of devastation. But through a rudimentary understanding of mindfulness, I’ve learned it is helpful to observe your pain from a bird’s eye view—to rise above your circumstances and directly own their ugliness, while still maintaining that, in spite of it all, everything is ok.