Man, 2019 was a real kicker for me, especially when it came to figuring out what the hell I was doing with my life. Everyone around me was always talking about “your true calling,” and if you were a Virgo like me, it was supposed to be all about service, getting things just right, finding that perfect niche. But honestly? I was lost in the woods, big time.
I remember sitting in my cubicle, staring at spreadsheets, feeling this gnawing dread in my gut. I was in a decent job, paid the bills, had the titles, but every single day felt like wading through treacle. My brain, which usually loved to organize and analyze, just felt… mushy. Like it was rejecting the whole damn thing. I’d try to find meaning in process optimization, in making reports look slick, but it was all just surface noise. I needed something deeper, something that really clicked, but I couldn’t even name it.
It wasn’t for lack of trying, either. I signed up for online courses, devoured self-help books, even went to a few of those motivational workshops – you know the ones, where everyone’s clapping and chanting. I was just trying to brute-force my way into finding this “true calling.” I explored project management, then dabbled in data analysis, thought about going back to school for something completely different. Each time, I’d throw myself into it, trying to convince myself “this is it, this is the one.” But the feeling never lasted. It was like putting on a shoe that looked good but just pinched your toes after a few steps.
The breaking point came pretty unexpectedly. It wasn’t a grand revelation, more like a tiny, annoying crack that just kept getting bigger until the whole thing fell apart. I was working on this huge presentation for some big shot client, spent weeks meticulously crafting every slide, every word. I thought this was where my Virgo perfectionism would shine, where I’d prove my worth. The night before, after pulling an all-nighter, I finally hit send. A huge wave of exhaustion washed over me, but instead of relief, I just felt… empty. Like, what was the point of all that effort, all that stress? Just to impress some guy in a suit who probably wouldn’t even remember my name?
I walked home in the early morning light, watching the city wake up, and something shifted. It wasn’t about the job, or the client, or even the money. It was about the feeling of doing something that resonated deep down. And that presentation? It resonated about as much as a damp sponge. I realized I was pouring all my energy into things that didn’t matter to me. The whole “Virgo wanting to be useful” thing was being twisted into just being useful to someone else’s bottom line, not my own internal compass.
The Messy Unraveling and Rebuilding
That morning, I just laid on my couch, totally wiped, and decided I needed a change. It wasn’t an instant quit-my-job moment, nope. I’m too practical for that. Instead, I started quietly experimenting. I began writing down all the things I genuinely enjoyed, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. Things like organizing my ridiculously cluttered digital photos, helping friends fix their broken gadgets, explaining complicated stuff in simple terms, or just sharing my weird little life hacks.
I started a tiny blog, just for myself at first. No fancy platform, just a free one. I would write about my attempts to make sense of complex software, my frustrations with daily tech, my simple solutions. It felt… easy. It didn’t feel like work. I was just chronicling my own struggles and discoveries. I wasn’t trying to be an expert; I was just sharing what I was figuring out. And for the first time in ages, my brain actually felt alive, not mushy.
People started commenting, asking questions. “Hey, I had that exact problem! Thanks for sharing this!” or “Can you break down this for me?” Slowly, slowly, a pattern emerged. My “true calling,” it seemed, wasn’t about being in a specific industry or having a particular title. It was about taking complex, messy things, breaking them down, making them understandable, and then sharing that understanding with others. It was about helping people navigate their own little tech or life challenges, simplifying the chaos.
That’s what my Virgo brain actually craved: not just order for order’s sake, but order for utility, for making life a little bit easier for someone else. It clicked. It felt right, like finally wearing a shoe that fit perfectly. That presentation, that soul-crushing moment of emptiness, it wasn’t a disaster; it was the push I needed to stop trying to fit into someone else’s idea of success and start building my own. And that little blog? Well, it’s grown into this, what you’re reading now.
