It was Tiara who called it a quarter-life crisis. Funny, huh?

I have spent a lot of time being sure of myself.

I was sure of myself when I started Virtual Magpie, way back when. I was sure that I could design brilliant materials, build really great websites, and provide enough value to the people I worked with that they’d be happy to pay me for my efforts.

I was sure I could run a business that paid my bills. I was sure I could move to Austin and let go of my last available safety net (that is, living in proximity to family—who have to take you in whether they like it or not).

I was sure that Marty could break amazing ground with his artwork, that it made no sense for him to work all day at a job he hated just to pay bills. I was so sure, I constructed a mad plan to allow him to quit that job... and do what he loved. I was sure I could make that difference in his life, and make it work.

I was right about all those things.

This last year, I decided that I wasn’t going to do anything I hated anymore. No more taking jobs just for the money, no more subjugating my master plan for a temporary fix. I was really vehement about it, too. I stopped doing business the “traditional” way and started treating my clients like friends—and only dealing with clients I felt truly friendly about. Pretending I was someone else simply wasn’t worth it. The world would have to accept me as I was.

The world did. Everything got better from there. Projects started to go more smoothly (and arrive more frequently). Clients were happier. I was happier. The money was better. My life became perceptively more positive and even more reliable. I started feeling really good at making my own living.

But then something kind of funny happened: I stopped really understanding what it is I do.

I got so caught up in listening to the tiny voice telling me what to do, what was best for myself, that I got halfway down the path and realized I didn’t know the destination. I didn’t know what I was striving for. I was following instructions—really good instructions!—but I didn’t understand what the instructions were leading me to. Without an explanation, I had no context. I was still going, but I was lost.

As of right now, I still am.

I know that I care a lot about the world and the people in it. I know that it evokes a powerful emotional reaction from me to see people laying about and wasting their potential when there is such need in the world for clever, skillful doers. I know that it makes me incredibly angry to see children being taught ineffective systems, to see people slogging through work they despise because they were taught that adults hold down jobs and pay bills, and that’s the end of it. I can’t stand it.

I can’t stand it.

But try as I might, right now I don’t understand what my purpose is. The little voice tells me what to do (sometimes) but doesn’t tell me why. That’s not useful, little voice. I take orders from myself great, but I need to know what’s going on here. It’s important, man. You’re decreasing my productivity. I need the explanation. The explanation is my will to live. It’s the thing that gives my life meaning.

And if someone asks, I’m not even sure what I’ll tell them.

Me?? I have that problem?

Dude.

Everything you know is wrong. You know?

I know that there are probably lots of reasons for this little hiccup. I’ve been working unbelievably hard, and not really taking time off until very recently. I’ve been making impossible things happen as a matter of course. I’ve been the insane scientist focusing on the unlikely goals at hand, intent on getting what she wants even if no one else believes it’s possible. And that focus—that obsession—is causing me to lose sight of the whole situation. I can’t see the forest, because the trees keep coming at me with machetes. Those are some serious trees, yo.

So what’s the solution?

I think it’s what I’ve been avoiding all along: Step back. Be still. Wait.

That’s when solutions come to me. When I wait.

Oh, man. I can do this.

Right?