Navigating Central Florida
The universal struggle of man
At 17 I caught a big break.
Planning for life after high school had been burdensome. I knew I wanted out. The app I most frequented—more than Instagram—was a clipart-quality clock counting down days, hours, minutes, and seconds to graduation.
No one was more—or less—ready to graduate than me.
For all my restlessness, the thing I didn’t know was what to do next. Choosing a life path is always a little debilitating. It should be inspiring to see peers launching successful businesses from their phones, but it’s not. When the possibilities are infinite, it’s paralyzing to choose.
I was never that kid with the one clear passion. My neighbor felt created by God to be a veterinarian. I didn’t have that. My interests were all relatively unrelated, and none involved a clear next step to even getting started.
The overwhelming pressure, though, vanished overnight when I landed a dream job that incorporated several of my disparate interests. It was a part time dream job, but a dream job, nonetheless.
I get paid to do this?
Caught in the euphoria, that younger Tim naively assumed his 20 hour/week position meant the end of ever again wondering, “What do I do with my life?”
Two hundred days ago I packed my 2013 Kia and moved south. I’ve had a few more of those dream jobs since 17, but after a long enough wait I decided to finally finish a degree. The post-COVID change in scenery was welcomed. Remote work? Now’s as good a time as any.
Classes began in the next town over. Near my apartment, I found a trail to run and a truck for tacos. But a week or two into southern living I realized: I still have no idea where I’m going.
Navigation is typically a strong suit of mine. Not down here. Constantly plugging the key coordinates into my phone, it was becoming no clearer to me how to get around. After two or three days, you’d expect it muscle memory to set in—to at least pick up the major landmarks. But I was only getting more confused.
As I tapped my address under “recent locations” one afternoon the problem hit me. This isn’t the way I came.
You know when you put directions in your phone? It sometimes gives a few options to choose from. You might see:
Route A: 14 minutes (Fastest)
Route B: 14 minutes
Route C: 15 minutes
Route D: 16 minutes
And so on.
What I realized was that the capillaries of the Central Florida road system are much more intricate than in old Ohio. Where I was used to a main road or two to get me where I’m going, I now had a great host of options—some more Northward, some more Southward. Depending on the time of day and fluctuating traffic, one way may be marginally quicker than the rest, constantly redesignating the “fastest” suggested route.
I had the same destination—but a new commute daily.
Florida, you’re too good. We wanted ways to get there. You gave us ways to get there. I don’t have to hit up Wendy’s the same way my parents did. There’s a path as unique as I am. There are endless possibilities. But the possibilities were trapping me as a tourist.
I closed maps and attempted to find my way home. Using what little instinct I had, I tried some right turns and a left. They weren’t all correct. But I mostly found my way—before overshooting the driveway.
That afternoon, I committed to my new commute. I repeated the same turns the next day and the one after that. Before long at all I had located myself in this unfamiliar new community. (And slowly, I picked up on some shortcuts and recognized the mistakes I’d been making.)
Commitment—not to the fastest route, but just to a route—taught me how to navigate. From repetition and even wandering, I learned to get where I want to go.
Since 17, I’ve had a few more of those dream jobs. I commit to one, and it teaches me before I start the next. What I’m good at, what I’m not good at. What I’m built for, what I’m drained by. What has been my most satisfying work was nowhere in the imagination of my 17-year-old self.
It’s rarely the perfect path you need before you can get where you want to go. And analyzing infinite options is more burden than blessing. It’s starting. It’s trying. Commit to an imperfect route today, and soon enough you too could be navigating Central Florida.
It is very relatable to be stuck in a sense of "navigating". Thank you for providing some insight into your understanding of clarity in these situations.
I feel like the cab driver from Deadpool is secretly giving me great life advice. BUT really this is a creative way to help people overcome indecisiveness and uncertainty. Good writer.