As I step outside of Woodstock Hall my breath mists in the air in front of me. The streetlights glow above; it’s only 8 PM, but it gets dark early in winter. I zip my jacket up and stuff my hands in my pockets.
The friends I’m with are just ahead of me and we’re all walking down to the bus to go out for 39-cent wings. Suddenly, I remember that I was supposed to be dropping off a resume for a student volunteer position as a Strength and Conditioning Coach at the gym on our way off campus.
“Shit,” I say, “I forgot my resume.”
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After a brief pause, I shrug and say, “Ah well, I probably wouldn’t have gotten it anyway. No sense worrying about it.”
Suddenly, one of the guys in the group turns to me.
“You should go back for it.”
“Nah, it would take too much time.”
“Come on Jack, it would only take 5 minutes. Go get it, we’ll wait.”
There were probably 8–12 of us who all lived on the second floor and often spent time together. Steve and I didn’t know each other that well yet, so I was surprised he spoke up.
I look around to the other people, a few nod their heads. Not one to inconvenience others, I hesitate.
“Go on Jack, get your resume,” someone else says in the group.
I go red as I feel I’m inconveniencing everyone, but I go up to grab my resume, and we drop it off on the way to the bar.
That was November 2010. 16 years later I can confidently say most of my professional life can be traced back to those 5 minutes. Sure, I’d put in the hard work to get into the McMaster Kinesiology program. Yes, I’d taken the time to fill out the resume. But without that push, no career as a personal trainer. No chance meeting with the RMT who worked for the Mac swim team.
I recently started reading Stephen King’s novel 11/22/63. It’s about a schoolteacher who travels in time to try and prevent JFK’s death. But what called to me is a line the narrator repeats at the beginning of the novel. Life turns on a dime. The thing is we don’t know when.
The resume wasn't the only time. Once I started looking backward, I saw these dimes everywhere.
The very first day at McMaster, I was keen to get access to the gym. I headed over to sign up for a membership. There was a line. I can’t actually tell you how it came to be. But there was a short blond guy in line drinking a white tea with honey. We started talking. His name was Paul. We discovered that we were both in Mac Kin. Fast forward 16 years again and he is one of my best friends. We’ve travelled to Costa Rica. We’ve taken multiple road trips to Manitoulin Island.
Later, I was living in Toronto. I was dating a girl and we had booked time off to travel to Thailand together… Or so I thought. As it turned out, I was the only one who had the time booked off. This came to light only a few weeks before departure. Plane tickets were crazy expensive at this point, so I needed a pivot for a solo trip. I had three options. San Jose, California; Dublin, Ireland; or St. John’s, Newfoundland. I remember thinking that I didn’t have much money and that the euro or American dollar exchange rates would kill my budget. So Newfoundland it was. That trip led to what has become a lifelong love of camping.
Can I work seriously toward the future without requiring it to look like the future I've imagined?
This past weekend, I drove up to Sault Ste. Marie and back with a friend. Over the 12+ hours in the car, a conversation came up about this exact idea. She has recently gone through a separation, so we both thought our lives were heading one way, and now we are both rebuilding. I shared my anxieties about the uncertainty of what was to come.
I spoke about the need to pivot into another career. I want a family and yet I’m single and childless. My own history is basically screaming at me: Jack, you have no fucking idea what’s going to happen.
I dreamed of being married. Of raising children in a house I owned. I have none of those things.
And her suggestion was to give space. To allow things to work out however they will. That I had time. That I had options.
But it nagged me then. Yes, I can recognize where randomness has shown up in my life. And I’ve worked damn hard. It wasn’t chance that got me into university. I built the skills necessary to be a successful business owner and to thrive as a RMT. And it is fucking terrifying to leave something as profound for me as whether or not I have a family to chance.
I couldn’t have submitted that resume if I hadn’t written it already. I wouldn’t have met Paul if I didn’t decide to explore a gym membership. I wouldn’t have camped in Newfoundland if I had decided to stay home.
Choices matter. The agency I have over my life creates motion. If I stay in my apartment for the next 5 years watching Netflix, I can’t really expect the future mother of my children to knock on my apartment door.
So it’s up to me to open the door. Leave the apartment. Meet people. Build a life worth sharing with someone.
I know that I want a family. That I want work that is meaningful, sustainable, and financially stable. I know that I want a life filled with adventure and community.
I can move toward these things without knowing the route.
All I can do is write the resume. And if I experience another moment when someone tells me to go back and get it, I go back and get it.
If this resonated, share it with someone who might need it.
Thanks for being here.
Jack
P.S. I’ve been thinking a lot about pressure and freedom lately.
I recently published a short essay called The Freedom Paradox.
It goes deeper into some of what I’ve been working through.
eBook + audiobook here:
https://jackjohnstonwrites.gumroad.com/l/freedom-paradox