So Ate died this week. At least, her boss thought she did when she slept through all eleven of her alarms.
Although it wasn’t funny for her, it was funny for me—funny as in strange. Over the past few years, it had become a habit of mine when entering any social gathering, “Would any of these people come to my funeral?”
A morbid thought, yes. Apparently, a necessary one. Merely in the second module of my Catholic Entrepreneurship and Design Experience course CEDE), I was assigned to write my own eulogy.
Like her father, mother, and older sister, Sr Isabel Marie was extremely passionate about life. While homeschooling from birth through high school, she participated in many extracurricular activities such as theater groups, speech and debate clubs, and dance classes, and was an active member of her parish, St Michael’s Catholic Church, volunteering in several choirs and participating in parish events.
Soon after, I was assigned the accompanying module project, “Designing Your Life”. These two events almost concurrently forced me to confront the severe possibility that the world would go on after I graduated high school, and an even more horrifying realization that the world could potentially leave me behind. My shadow future, as it were, loomed even closer than college applications.
[...A] washed-up, poverty-stricken, fallen-away, flunked student. Maybe on drugs or an alcoholic. I will have driven away both my friends and family, and won’t want to admit my failures to the extent I’ll refuse any help they do offer...[o]r I’ll have become so numb to what’s good versus what’s bad (for me) that I think I’m doing fine while I slowly deteriorate.
Alright then. I have to decide on a college, a career, a suitor, a retirement home, and a funeral service. I need to plan to make sure that I can succeed, and not fail.
An Odyssey project? It’s just another plan. I won’t dare pick my Plan A because that would jinx it. So… Plan B? I’m good at cooking, and I like external validation. I won’t be miserable in the kitchen for the rest of my life. So I feed people. It’s what I do. I never stopped to think it could be who I am.
The MCODE Assessment in module 5 helped pin down why I liked my Plan B.
I’m spurred on to greatness when these motivations are present in the situation. Although I discovered this during quarantine, this applies to any area of my life, but especially to my personal vocation.
Even though it wasn’t necessarily Catholic or even spiritual, it also helped me define my vocation—that hated word that plagued me ever since I considered my future.
My personal vocation, as of eighteen years old, is to listen. Listen to the voices of my mentors, should they be parents, respected teachers, or other advisors in other walks of life. Listen to my own heart, the desires placed there by God and the conscience formed in the ways of God. Most importantly, I should listen for the voice of God, speaking directly or indirectly.
The MCODE and pondering my vocation helped me settle in my plans for a while. There was no pressure; I could take things at my own pace. I didn’t even have to try, because I didn’t care. It was my Plan B anyway.
“There are two ways you can fail me. First by your ill intent, then by your bad skills.” Aristotle echoes the sentiment from the TV series, Jewel in the Palace. “There are two ways to miss. First by not aiming at the target. Then by not practicing.” The chicken noodle soup turned out bad. My head was a mess. Was I supposed to be an entrepreneur or a Catholic? No one seemed to be guiding me in the right direction or even telling me where I went wrong. Money may be the manure of the devil but it seemed to be mighty useful to entrepreneurs. Likewise, relationships and friends were important to me, but the internal and external expectations seemed to be pushing me away from good relationships into superficial ones. Even my vocation seemed to be stagnating the more I clung to it. After all, a job is a job and a vocation is a vocation. Does it matter if I do it or if someone else does it? What could I have brought to the equation besides bad chicken noodle soup?
Everyone had told me—kept telling me—why one keeps going when plans go wrong. And that was my problem: my plan went awry. And I blamed everyone. This person can’t drive me. My parents can’t pay for me. My friend won’t talk to me. I don’t have what it takes. Instead of seeing the forest, I saw disgusting trees, up close and personal. “It’s not personal, it’s just good business.” All that means is that it wasn’t personal to you. But it was personal to me.
So why should I keep going? The plan failed.
Why was my life worth living?
“Never forget. Fear is but a precursor to valor, that to strive and triumph in the face of fear is what it means to be a hero.”
I wasn’t a hero. But I had a life worth living. I was letting my short-term problems get in the way of finding meaning and excitement. Oh, and my problems weren’t people. People are people. My problems were what made my life worth living, because if something’s worth doing at all, it’s worth doing it poorly over and over until it is excellent.
After all, I am an entrepreneur, and my values aren’t those typically seen as values.
In the odyssey I’m about to undertake, I want to be admirable. I want to be intentional, consistent, nuanced and blunt, steadfast in self-care and care for others, and always striving for excellence. A few ways to do that are outlined in my “life rules” journal entry.
1. What comes in --> what goes out2. Stewardship3. Listen/understand/comprehend/communicate4. You never stop learning, Padawan5. Keep your priorities straight
What was missing in my plan wasn’t the dream and passion of my Plan A or shoot-for-the-stars Plan C. What was missing was the person who showed up every day as the person she wanted to be.
I have limited time.
Time is money. Pay to play…Time isn’t free. Time is probably one of the most valuable assets this world has. How do I “spend” my time? Am I getting my money’s worth?
In the time that I have, I can’t afford to settle for any mediocrity. It doesn’t matter if it’s my plan B, I’m intentionally choosing to elevate it and everything I do.
Does if matter if I’m a college dropout, a failure living with my parents? Does it matter if I’m working customer service or unpaid internships while going to night school? Does if matter if I’m the entry-level position in the Michelin establishment?
My life, and my quality of life, depends on me choosing to extend myself. "My Big Plans" don’t matter until I’ve got my little, insignificant plans in place; in other words, why does “success” matter if I want to be happy?
Once upon a time, a girl didn’t want to go to Five Guys. Although it may seem like she was just hangry, or snobby, or just plain wanted to make a fuss, she didn’t view it that way. What she wanted was connection. I still want connection.
I wasn’t doing anything special that day: I wasn’t planning or preparing for anything or even taking a mental health day to be productive. I found dried flowers in a farmer’s market stall and bought some on impulse. The flowers are dead. Worthless. No scent, no color, practically no appeal unless you’re a hopeless romantic. But they’re still pretty, and I find value in them.
So allow me to introduce myself. My name is Isabel Marie Auclair, and I’m going to die someday. But don’t worry. I have a plan.
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