I find myself, a little too often, dreaming of a million other lives. Just earlier today I walked alongside the river and dreamed of a life where I do something creative and hands-on. In that life I have calluses on my hands from carving, nailing, painting and making something so original it doesn’t yet have a name. Sometimes I imagine a life where I somehow marry rich and become a woman who does yoga in the middle of the day. That life is full of ease, downward facing dog, spitefully holding my tongue and swallowing my pride. Often I imagine going to live in Japan. In that life I spend time with my grandma and au pair cute, well-behaved Japanese children. I imagine living in London forever or packing my bags this instant and never coming back. I consider it all. My mind vibrates with the question: What shall I do? 

‘What shall I do?’ is like a roommate to me. They’re there when I wake up, they tuck me in when I go to sleep, they dry the water off my body when I get out of the shower. They’re here now, sitting with one leg crossed over the other and glaring at me. Joining a cult is enticing, so far as it would mean someone to tell me what to do every second of the day. I may be a seventeenth wife but at least I don’t have to decide what to do with my life. Like pins and needles the torment of ‘what shall I do?’ prickles me. There seems, all at once, to be so much and so little possibility. People often say “It’s never too late”, however I can say with confidence that if I now wanted to become a prima ballerina it would, in fact, be too late. 

This is not a new problem. Literature pours with people asking the same question. In The Bell Jar, Esther sits under the fig tree and looks at the abundant figs ripening, only she does nothing and so they rot and fall around her. Hesitation; that is Esther’s problem. The inability to make a choice, considering for too long which fig will make her happiest rather than plucking a handful and sinking her teeth into them. When I was growing up I would misplace things all the time (I still lose things often now too). I would run frenzied around the house desperately searching for what I had lost. During these episodes my mother would instruct me to look with my hands; “Look with your hands, not with your eyes.” I can hear her voice now. Life is like that I think. I must look with my hands otherwise how will I know which fig is the most ripe and delicious?
Another great example of this conundrum is found in Mary Oliver’s poem The Summer Day in which she asks; ‘Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?’ Great question Mary, thank you so much for asking — I have no clue.

The question isn’t only ‘what shall I do?’ In its all-consuming totality, it’s ‘what shall I do so that my life isn’t a miserable, difficult, redundant failure?’ The pressure builds and I lie awake at night, sweating from the fear of reaching mid-life and asking myself ‘Is this it?’ I’ve always been a type-A person; planned, cautious and controlling. This is at odds with the ‘looking with your hands’ approach I want to take. When adventures and opportunities come up I should say yes and dive into them. Only what if my bed isn’t made, my hair not brushed, my laundry left unfolded? What about the birthday I promised I would go to, the script I said I would read, the dentist appointment I made? What if the decay of all my responsibilities is so sour that I can’t taste the sweetness of freedom? What shall I do?

I’ve decided this year to try six new things. Six moments of looking with my hands. Six instances of neglecting the dirty dishes to live. Six bites into six figs from Esther’s fig tree. I hope these new experiences will help me find clues as to what I want to do. I hope those clues help me keep ‘what shall I do?’ at bay. It is good to think seriously about what you want from life, I don’t want to become resigned until I’m not asking the question at all. I hope to reach a point where ‘what shall I do?’ sits patiently in the other room with their fingers interlaced on their lap rather than looming over me with their wild hands covering my eyes.

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