Apparently, in my mid-ish 30s, I have hit another growth spurt. I’m calling it the nothing fits developmental phase. As the name suggests, it’s a time when nothing fits. I’m sure if I were on the latest diet and going to the gym like they tell me I ought, I wouldn’t be going through this. But, psycho-babble and consumption politics aside, I am truly experiencing a time when nothing fits. Clothes are a little tighter. Relationships are shifting and shrinking. Work I normally enjoy grates on the nerves. Everything feels too…too… uncomfortable.

I once thought that by such-and-such an age I would have found my niche, and seamlessly melded into a place or profession that was so homey I would never want to leave. Over the years, though, I haven’t been able to get my brain to contort and fit into whichever desired skill set is needed at the time. After graduating from college I remember feeling lost, and now, after a master’s, that same feeling is creeping back, shuffling towards me with zombie-like constancy. A mumbled refrain comes to mind about not really having marketable skills and experience each time I start to ask, what color is my parachute? But I refuse to join the ranks of master’s-wielding baristas in this java junkie town.

IMGP0626Fit is a two-way street, though. (Less so in the clothing department, that one’s pretty straightforward.) For example, I feel at home in the classroom because I have something to offer, and also more to learn. I enjoy my job when my talents are put to use, and I am challenged to develop further. There is a reciprocation of good in fit. When something no longer fits, that can mean we’ve grown out of it. And if we’ve grown out of it, then what? I mean, I’ve “grown” out of a couple pairs of pants, but I’m not sure that’s a good thing. And, what about the other side, the growing into side? Too big for a size x, but not yet big enough for a y is a very strange place to be.

Which is exactly where I find myself these days: stuck in a convergence zone of no longers and not quites.

And so I write. That’s the craziest part of all. Fingers to keyboard, plunking out story bits without a plot line worked out. I want to reach the next rung. I want to make that next faithful step. If only it were visible. … What am I growing into? … What are you reaching up to grasp? … What are we expecting…anticipating…hoping to receive?