The Pivot - #2 - The Only Constant

I’m Jaren—a neurodivergent voice artist turned student nurse, and you’re listening to the audio version of my blog series The Pivot: my journey through motherhood, medicine, language, and music and the art of the mid-life remix.

Photo by Pok Rie: https://www.pexels.com/photo/winding-road-in-lush-green-forest-aerial-view-33275771/

The Only Constant

Change is my only constant. And whether I want to admit it or not, I need it. My neurodivergence needs it. My soul needs it. 

Stagnation is my enemy. It’s been my enemy in relationships and in my work. I’ve been told for years that sticking to one thing is the ideal and my need for change is the symptom of a much larger problem, one I need to figure out. But after decades of therapy, I’m not sure I believe that anymore.

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I’ve started over more times than anyone I know, so far. I’ve moved thirty-four times in my forty-two years, donated all my belongings to strangers (apart from a few essentials) twice, started over from scratch after divorce, had two mental breakdowns in the years after that had me seriously considering ending my life, and I've started my career over many many times. I’ve qualified for government assistance for most of my adult life, but have never taken it because I thought it would make me a bad person because…we just don’t do that in my family.

I struggled. I found it impossible to find work in my own language in a North-American province worried about the French language police. I trudged through years of barely making ends meet; of refusing to go out with friends because I couldn’t afford to; of telling my family I, once again, couldn’t afford to participate in giving Christmas presents this year, nor could I afford to come home to see them in person.

And yet, somehow, I made ends meet. Most of the time with a modest amount of debt.

Things changed briefly when I became a voiceover artist. I made more money than I thought I deserved, so I started giving it away to strangers; buying groceries for families in need; donating belongings I felt guilty about owning. I was responsible. I saved up the money I needed to set aside in order to pay my taxes as an independent contractor. I saved to buy a car. I saved to pay off a loan to my Dad. Then I saved to make a down payment on a condo. And when I started losing some of my bread and butter gigs to AI, I sold my condo and bought a house outside the main city so I wouldn’t have to pay condo fees because they were killing me. My body knew rough financial times were ahead and, boy, did they come. In the span of a year and a half, I lost 75% of my income. I blame it on AI. But I’m not mad about it. Not now, at least.

I was happy to make money as a voiceover for the first couple of years. Then I started getting bored. Life was becoming too predictable. Somewhere deep down, though, I really wanted stability - and here it was. I kept telling myself I needed it for my kids. They deserve it. I was a messy mother for so many years, surely this kind of boredom on my part is good for them. But I lost motivation to work and more importantly, I realized many parts of being a voiceover no longer fit with my values. I felt like I was selling my soul to voice projects I didn’t believe in. But there were some I did, so I auditioned for those and stuck it out as long as I could. Anyway, how privileged was I that I even had a choice in the matter? First world problems, Jaren. Don’t be so ungrateful.

The need to reinvent myself regularly is so strong that asking me to stay in one period of time, position, or place for too long physically hurts. I remember a famous DJ once told me, after having heard about my penchant for singing in other genres of music, that “It’s too bad you didn’t just stick to trance music. You could have been someone.” I was devastated and I went home thinking what he said must be true. There must be something wrong with me that I can’t just do the same thing over and over and over and ove…

Why was I given this gift of curiosity?

I didn’t want it anymore.

And then I thought back to when I was a kid. My Dad made ends meet by buying old houses and fixing them up. Often, we would live in these houses while he made improvements. And each time we went to visit a new one, my sister and I would run around the house declaring excitedly which room we called dibs on. No matter what it looked like, I would always imagine how I’d decorate it and how it would feel to sit at the end of my bed all by myself, alone in my own space. Essentially, I would ask myself two different questions: How will I take up this space? And how will I settle myself in?

These questions inevitably became the two things I’ve asked myself during every real pivot in my life, since, I’ve come to realize. As a full-time student, I ask myself how will I take up this student space? Will I put myself out there? What kind of student will I be? Will I be helpful to my classmates? Will I fend for myself? 

And then I ask myself how I’ll settle in, essentially a derivative of the first question. This question triggers my intuition. In all the years I’ve started over, it’s always been by feeling. By tuning into my gut, for better or worse. In the worst cases, I realize I’m sliding down a very slippery slope, but not so fast I can’t reach out and find something to hang on to… a social worker, a psychologist…a voice on the other end of an anonymous phone line. In the best cases, my intuition tells me how to introduce myself to others. It lets me know if what I’m doing feels okay, or if it feels absolutely off. Am I comfortable?

If I feel okay, great. 

If I feel great. My god, I’ve won the lotto.

So now, as I sit and type, I wonder if school will ever start to feel too predictable for my comfort. Right now I’m doubtful. I just love the subject matter so much. But the routine might get to me, eventually. And when it does, I’ll need a plan.

Because I will always need change.

And finally, I’m okay with that.

-J