'Ambition Monster'
A reflection on trauma and ambition through Jennifer Romolini's new memoir.
My friend, Jenn, wrote a book - a great book, a memoir based on her life-long relationship with ambition and workaholism. Two groups I secretly - okay, maybe not so discreetly - have belonged to since I started working at twelve in a small flower shop in my hometown of Delta, Colorado. My first boss, Ellen, whom I’m still friends with today, paid me to sweep the floors after school, work the register, and run the daily "checks & balances.” (I really should be much better with budgeting considering how young I was when I started.) Looking back, I realize this is when I began to lean into the traits of self-sufficiency, ambition, and (probably) too much independence. All qualities I ranked as “my best” in my younger years, not so much as I’ve gotten older. Learning (then) that I like earning money so I can buy things that I want or need; whether to survive or thrive. I’ve been a workaholic since.
I met Jennifer Romolini when we were both residents at an artist residency in Iceland in November 2021. I immediately felt a kindred connection to her, like we were cut from the same ‘trauma-kid’ cloth. Only she was (and remains) way cooler than me with her rocker-cut blond hair and long legs, her fun and spunky personality, and her fab wardrobe that screams, ‘I shop at ultra-hip thrift shops in LA, and you still can't buy this style.’
At the time, she was working on a tight deadline for her already-sold memoir, and I was sifting through notes on mine. One morning, I told her how I wasn't sure about my book anymore, that I felt like something else was percolating, but wasn’t sure what exactly.
Without missing a beat Jenn said, “That’s because you’re still living the story.”
“Still living the story…” I asked.
“Yeah,” she replied with the type of confidence you don’t learn but are born with. “You’re going to have to be patient until it shows itself. Live. The. Story.”
Nervously, I laughed. The type of laugh that says, ‘If only it were that easy’ because I’m not known for having patience. At the time, if you told me you’d do something in the next ten minutes, it wouldn’t have been fast enough for me. My five-year plan was actually a five-month goalpost, and I’m pretty sure my high blood pressure, random chest pains, and eye twitch were the result of my can-do-faster-than-you attitude.
When I finally stopped laughing - awkwardly, for way too long, Jenn pointed at me, “That’s trauma…” and walked back to her room to process her own.
Jenn’s trauma is eloquently retold in her memoir, ‘Ambition Monster,’ as she reflects on her difficult childhood and how it influenced her relationship with perfectionism, success, and desire to climb the corporate ladder quickly. An unfortunate truth many of us can relate to. Effortlessly she reveals her faults, hopes, and lifelong struggle with success, like you’re chatting with a close friend on the sofa. In true Jenn fashion, she weaves humbling, raw prose with the type of delicious dark humor that induces laugh-out-loud laughter with an eye-twinge of realism. (Us, trauma kids have the best sense of humor, don’t we?) On more than one occasion, I had to stop reading, take a deep breath, and wipe the tears from my eyes because I painfully resonated with her story.
Like Jenn, I grew up in a young working-class family. I, too, am the oldest daughter and there is a 5 1/2-year age gap between my sister and me. Despite having the same parents, our childhoods and teenage years are strikingly different. We both endured things the other didn’t and have acquired different needs because of it. For me, as the oldest, I was always driven by success. I felt a lot of responsibility to be more: dependable, resourceful, and prosperous. I was terrified of fucking up and failing, and because of this was an over-achiever, constantly one-upping myself while remaining “good” because - like Jenn - I always felt I was “inherently bad.” And with an absent father struggling with many demons and addictions, this was exacerbated ten-fold; I didn’t want to be like him or be poor ever again.
While in college in the early 2000s, I was a first-generation student who struggled to stay focused on my studies - working full-time and often having to sell my plasma for gas money. A reality that none of my other friends had as their families could afford their way, which created unnecessary tension (from time to time) when I couldn’t join in on the fun they were having. But, hey, I had a killer resume when I graduated, filled with noteworthy internships and office roles. I had set myself up for success, while many of my peers struggled to get interviews post-graduation.
I spent much of my twenties working multiple jobs to get ahead, survive, or build connections and emotionally drained myself (sometimes physically too) in the process. At the time, I wanted to be the big boss someday - make all the money and acquire security and stability. Things I deeply desired as a child because they carried with them respect, admiration, and privilege. A currency that is neither purchasable nor affordable to all.
In my early and mid-thirties, I worked full-time in charity management and had a heap of freelance gigs: writing articles for many publications and websites, working crew on various TV & Film projects, and designing websites, flyers, and ads. These gigs afforded me the opportunity, for the first time in my life, to travel and pay bills. But I was exhausted, and many of my relationships suffered in the process.
Sadly, when you chase the wrong thing, it eventually catches up to you (in one way or another). This is the same harsh reality that Jenn encounters when she is abruptly fired from her corner suite office career. A painful reminder that when we don’t slow down - when we don’t do the inner work, the universe often brings us to a crashing halt.
Around the time I met Jenn, after surviving what I call my “rock bottom” (family tragedy, abusive relationships, infertility, career loss, etc), I had a very honest conversation with my then-boss about my future. During my yearly review she - rather bluntly - told me I should be aiming for higher leadership positions. She thought I was “wasting my time” in my current role and could be making more money and carving a path to Senior Leader or CEO. And I’ll never forget it… for the very first time, I was unapologetically honest with her and myself.
“I have (literally) no interest, whatsoever, in that.”
And I meant it. I was emotionally drained - exhausted, from a lifetime of keeping it together and trying to impress coworkers and be the best at my job to get that next raise, promotion, or award. I was enjoying the mundane of my career and being a CEO sounded dreadful (then and now). Yeah, the money would be nice, but that type of responsibility no longer appeals to me. I don’t want it. I don’t need it, because I know that part of me would become all consumed by the role and leadership, and I would become so solely focused that I would lean into the most detrimental parts of myself. And it wouldn't make me happy, it would make me miserable.
Like, Jenn, I’ve finally found (some) peace in my work journey and childhood experiences. My priorities have changed, and I like to think I’ve gotten much better at implementing a good work-life balance, but I’m sure those closest to me would say otherwise. I still have my moments. (Habits are hard to break ya’ll, especially when I’m not Oprah-rich.) But I have come to realize that over the years my ambition has shifted from survival-induced to soul-enriching.
My goals now are for the enrichment of my spirit, which will bring personal joy or inner fulfillment. Like writing a novel, traveling to Egypt, or learning to watercolor with some kind of mastery where I’m not ashamed to show my artwork to friends. My ambition - or my drive, to be more precise - is finally about me, and not anything else. And it has nothing to do with my career; what position I obtain or how many accolades I can acquire. But that doesn’t mean that my inner “we can’t be poor” voice doesn’t creep in from time to time, instilling fear and determination to go further for no other reason than to feel safe. It’s a constant struggle and one I’m sure I’ll have to muddle through from time to time. But, hey, at least I’m self-aware, right?
It’s hard not to sound biased, I know, but my love for Ambition Monster is not just because I know the person - and have compassion and understanding for her journey - but, because I believe it’s a story that needs to be told. A life lesson shared by many, one not spoken about enough and very much needed. And because of that, I cannot recommend it more. You can purchase it here.
I haven’t seen Jenn since we spent that wonderful month together in our cabin under the Icelandic sky - sharing our life stories, and visiting the local tourist spots, but we occasionally check in with one another and when we do, I instantly miss her. I know one day we will reunite. Maybe back in Iceland, in a trendy cafe in Paris, or my new home in Scotland. The universe always finds a way to bring kindred souls back together. Until then, I’ll just “live the story.”
NEWS
My first flash fiction piece, ‘All Along’ was published this week in Flash Fiction Magazine. Check it out! This is a 500-word story inspired by my love for my grandmother. (And yes, I cried while writing it.)
Listen/Watch me read the first few pages of ‘Table for One’ at the Book Nook’s Fourth Friday event last weekend.
