I figure my first step has got to be enlisting the help of a coach. Dante had Virgil, after all, on his grand tour (ok, I promise that’s the last reference). Something between a life and career coach, I reckon. Someone who can take stock of the totality that is ME, shove it in an algorithm, and produce a suggested list of career opportunities. And maybe help me break a few bad habits I’ve accrued along the way. What, like it’s hard??

Egregious expectations to one side, how do I even find one of those? I can’t exactly post “need a life coach, any recommendations?” on the socials. It’s not that I am embarrassed to admit needing the help. It’s the inevitable consequence of getting unsolicited advice or recommendations from the wrong people (no thanks, not from you). Or worse, getting no recommendations at all, and then having the paranoia of what those same people must think (one of the above-mentioned bad habits). I am a slut to others’ opinions whilst simultaneously being a misanthrope. People are complex, yo.

As a result, here I am on a directory, scrolling through a catalogue of life counsellors, transformational therapists and wellbeing coaches. As I blurb-browse, I discount anyone who uses the phrase “your authentic self” in the first sentence. I got through as much of Radical Awakening as I could, but that notion of some sort of Platonic Ideal version of me, the truest me, that lies buried in the life-rubble and needs to be disinterred, just doesn’t butter my parsnips. I think I have about 17-and-a-half ‘authentic selves’ squatting in my psyche, overthinking, navel-gazing and bickering – trust me, they don’t need any more air-time. 

I find a dozen or so that seem… okay, and email them. Four get back in touch (was it something I said?) and with three I set up “exploratory meetings”.

The first is in person. I somehow manage to go to the gym immediately before, thus arriving suitably gymified (but not too sweaty, cuz, it’s easy, right?), and doing a great impression of a person who does, actually and regularly, go to the gym. Manifesting the person I aim to be, rather than the well-intentioned layabout I can rightfully claim to be. Turns out she did the same in reverse, showing up uber-professional, to project someone serious who wears suits every day. I immediately like that we can own our veneers, and confess to the reality behind them.

We end up having a two-and-a-half hour chat (can’t say I don’t get bang for my complimentary buck!). It strikes me that this is very much a two-way interview, we both have to decide if we want to work together.  So she reveals a great deal about herself, even tearing up at one point as we discuss some of her key life events – I really like her, so I decide it would be gauche to invoice her… OK, that’s 1 for 1, she seems nice, I can see myself working with her. Oh lord, what if they are all this compatible and I have to do some sort of awkward choosing?

My second “coach exploration” is over zoom, and 20 minutes in, I am just at the point of thinking that gosh, I like her too, when she declares that she is probably inadequate to the task. Am I that much of a mess? No, it transpires, I am not messed up enough, most of her clients are in a much greater degree of befuddlement, and her particular strengths lies in helping them to a point of clarity that I have seemingly already achieved. “You are too intellectually advanced in your journey,” she says, which I initially find somewhat gratifying. But I worry that I have worn my “I totally have my life sorted” veneer too well?? I am sure I am, in fact, a basket case. Later, I find myself wondering if “you are too advanced” is the equivalent to “it’s not you, it’s me” in relationships, which of course always means it is you. It’s not a bad way for a coach to turn down a client, really? And if that is the case, I clearly struck her immediately as a nightmare to work with. Ha, I think triumphantly, I am a basket-case!