My Arch Nemesis, Uncertainty: Finding Authenticity in the Unclear via Agency and Through-lines

Shelby Barillas
Aug 31
15 min read

Sylvia Plath's Fig Tree Analogy. “I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.” — Sylvia Plath's Fig Tree Analogy

"UGH! What should I do?" I muttered, burying my face in my hands and tugging at my hair.

I glanced down at my big-eared four-legged sidekick, Picasso. "Is this job even worth it?" I asked. He tilted his head, a chew toy wedged between his teeth, and let out a sharp YIP before dropping it into my lap.

Translation: PLAY WITH ME!

"Alright, fine," I sighed, throwing the toy across the room. Picasso isn't much help with career advice (he is, after all, just a Chihuahua), but he excels at what the species was bred for: being the ultimate cuddly companion. His unconditional love has always been a comfort through manic midnights and self-questioning spirals, but even his warm snuggles couldn't quiet the buzzing question that I've been grappling with for months: What am I doing with my life?

Lately, I've been grappling with the concept of purpose, still trying to figure out how one establishes their career and fully steps into adulthood. For months, I've been juggling three jobs: a retail associate at Paper Source, a front desk associate at Planet Fitness, and a Junior Art Director at Kern & Turn. Of the three, only the last truly matters to me. The other two were supposed to be temporary, a financial safety net while I built my design work into something sustainable. But what started as 'just financial security' quickly became draining, siphoning the energy and creativity I worked hard to protect.

Trust me, I tried to make it work. Tuesdays were always the worst. I'd wake up before sunrise for my gym shift, try to squeeze in a workout after if I was feeling bold, rush home for my morning routine and to walk the dogs, speed through grocery shopping, prep meals for the week, eat lunch (if I remembered), and carve out an hour or two for design work before heading to my second job. If the store were empty, I'd sneak in more creative work on my laptop, only to come home, eat dinner, and cram in another design sprint before finally crashing. Not every day was the same, but the chaos was constant, and so was the exhaustion.

Eventually, I had to confront my worst adversaries, time and choice. These two have always been my shadows, but lately, they've become constant companions, whispering in my ear during the disorienting in-betweens of adulthood. I find myself looping back to the same refrain: How do we learn to make choices and live with them, knowing we can't control the outcome? I'm sure many of you have felt the same way.

The Fig Tree, Mortality, and Me

Through the chaos of job juggling, I kept circling back to the bigger picture: time, choice, and my fear of wasting both.

Since childhood, I've been acutely aware that life is finite – you only get one shot. I grew up watching people around me live solely for others, never harvesting joy or passions for themselves, weighted down by regret, yet still repeating the same choices that kept them stuck. That terrifies me, and more than anything, I fear dying without chasing all of my dreams. I carry a million ambitions, goals, and versions of myself I want to embody, but only one lifetime to try. The blunt fact of the matter is, it's impossible to do it all. The limits of mortality bind me, and I fucking hate that.

Sylvia Plath's famous fig tree metaphor highlights this tension for me. The first time I read it, I felt the weight of sadness and guilt creeping onto me as I reached the final line.

"I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."

That line taunts me whenever I'm paralyzed by indecision, groaning at the frustration of not knowing what to do or what comes next. But unlike Plath, I don't see the fig tree as despair; I see it as abundance. The unknown itself doesn't scare me. To me, the unknown is an endless possibility. Uncertainty, however, is what unravels me, and no, they are not the same. The unknown is blind, arbitrary; uncertainty is much more dreadful, like having just enough puzzle pieces to know a picture exists, but not enough to know what it is.

It's maddening to know that, despite having the right tools, ambition, and capabilities, I still struggle to achieve my goals. I can make every 'right' choice available, yet life always seems to have its own counterplan. The mix of uncertainty and indecision creates an ongoing emotional battle, becoming the arch-nemesis of my life.

To help combat these feelings, I cling to a quote my sophomore-year professor once said: "Stop trying to make the right decision, make your decisions right." I try to live by that philosophy, though, easier said than done, especially when I feel the figs on my tree are rotting before my eyes. I'm hyperaware of the many different versions of myself waiting to emerge. The fig tree makes that apprehension visible; each ripe fig is a version of me, but I know I can't reach for them all, and every choice feels like a gamble, not just about what I can gain but also about what I will lose.

I know I'm not alone in this struggle. Everyone carries a fig tree: prioritizing between career and parenthood, staying home for stability or moving out for freedom, committing to a relationship or keeping independence of singlehood, pursuing higher education or diving straight into the workforce. What makes these decisions so daunting isn't just the practical outcomes; it's how each one of these choices reshapes our identity. The version of me who didn't take that path lingers in the background like a faint silhouette whispering, What if? I'm sure many of you have heard that whisper, too.

This past year especially, I've had to pick some large figs of my own: moving to Massachusetts instead of staying in California, choosing freelance design over a corporate job, and trusting my intuition over outside voices. These choices weren't black and white or merely about geography and career; they were about identity. Who do I want to be when I wake up? Whose values am I living by – my own, or the safer, more socially recognizable path others would expect?

Sometimes I wonder about the path not taken. What if I had decided to stay in California? Would I have found a stable job sooner? What would my relationship look like? Would I even have started this blog? But then I remember the part of me that yearned for me to be here, even if it looks different from what I imagined.

I can still see myself standing in the airport, saying goodbye to my mother before boarding the plane. It was heartwrenching having to let her and that version of myself go, but beneath the fear and tears was excitement for what was to come. I was curious about the ordinary aspects, such as what my mornings would look like, how I'd adapt to New England's weather, and which coffee shop would become my go-to.

So I circle back to one of the many questions I can't seem to escape: How do you choose without losing yourself? Is it even possible, or is choice always an act of letting go?

Job Market So Bad...

We all know the job market is shit – I don't need to sit here and complain about that again. At this point, I feel like I've cycled through all seven stages of grief (twice) in the time I've been job hunting. I'm unsure if I've reached some enlightened form of peace or if I'm too exhausted to care anymore.

According to an AP News article, unemployment is currently lower among college graduates compared to those without a college degree. However, an article from Business Insider reports that entry-level job postings have decreased by 16%, while the number of applications for each job has increased by 26%. Additionally, the US Bureau of Labor Statistics indicates that the unemployment rate for Gen Zers is 8.3%, the highest it has been since the COVID-19 pandemic. Given these statistics and reports, many of us are left questioning, "What was the point of it all?"

I don't believe that going to college is a waste of time. Education can be transformative, both personally and professionally. It is a period when we learn a great deal about the world and ourselves. But if we had known what awaited us after graduation, would we have made the same choices? Or would we have pursued something more authentic to ourselves from the beginning?

I've noticed a divide among my peers in Gen Z and Gen Alpha (who are primarily in middle school). Some have grown numb, leaning into apathy as a survival mechanism. Others remain stubbornly optimistic, almost naively treating the future like a blank canvas. I find myself oscillating between both. I find this split equally fascinating and disorienting. How can half of us look at the future and see nothing but a void, while the other half insists it's infinite potential? I don't have the answer, though I can sympathize with both sides of the divide.

One thing that unites us is the language we use to cope and process these complex feelings. Online, humor has become a shield against despair and anxiety. We throw around words like 'cooked ' and 'delulu ' to reframe our lack of autonomy, leaning into the idea that if stability is impossible, we might as well play along with our own delusions and rebrand it into something laughable. Another phrase I keep seeing everywhere is "job market so bad, I started following my dreams." On the surface, it's just a joke, but it also reveals the irony our entire generation feels: We have nothing to lose, so we might as well give it a try.

Maybe it's the Pollyanna in me or my stubborn refusal to give up, but I wonder if there's a more profound message hidden within this economic and societal shift. Why have we let work and productivity sit at the center of our lives? Perhaps this crisis isn't about collapse, but about redirection, forcing us toward the things we love, even if the path began in desperation rather than by choice.

In my own rejection-riddled job hunt, I've started interrogating my motives. Why am I doing this? Do I even want it in the way I think I do? The answer, at least partially, is yes. I want to work in design. But why am I so fixated on the structure of a company job? Is it because of the illusion of stability? A lack of faith or self-discipline as a freelancer? Or the conditioning to believe legitimacy only comes with a salary and benefits package? The honest answer is, all of the above.

I face another paradox I can't ignore: nothing really matters. But also, nothing really matters. On the one hand, that's alarming; on the other hand, it's liberating.

Agency Isn't Your Enemy

I'll be the first to admit that there have been plenty of times when I wanted to throw my hands up in frustration and scream, "I can't do this!" Just two months ago, I nearly reached that breaking point while trying to register my car in Massachusetts. Every step felt like a never-ending game of phone tag. From tracking down the correct paperwork to proving my legal residency, and comparing car insurance plans (what's the point if I have to pay a deductible anyway?), there were countless moments when I wanted to kick, scream, and cry just to escape it all.

Instead of letting my anger and irritation take over—though I came close to throwing my phone across the room a few times—I chose to take action rather than remain stagnant. I asked specific questions when speaking with representatives and researched answers from various documents and websites. It was tedious and mentally exhausting, but in the end, I managed to get my car registered, which filled me with a sense of pride for having figured it out (whoohoo, go adulthood!). Even though I felt clueless throughout the process, it reminded me that I can tackle complex challenges. There's strength in admitting that you don't have all the answers, but even greater strength in being curious, asking questions, and navigating your way toward clarity.

Even when we can't control the headlines or what opportunities slip through our fingers, we still hold the pen when it comes to perspective. What I've come to realize is that it isn't the decision itself that matters, but the fact that you have to make one; otherwise, life will make it for you. The only way to take control of your life is to embody a sense of agency.

While researching for this post, I came across a blog by the Pattison Professional Counseling and Meditation Center. They mentioned, "Many people believe they have very little agency in their life. They adopt the attitude that life has given them specific circumstances, that things are what they are, and that they are stuck forever."

This statement resonated with me because I've experienced that mindset before and occasionally find myself slipping back into it. In high school, I felt like I would never make it to college because I couldn't afford it. While in college, I had to take an extra year to complete my classes, which made me feel like I was falling behind. More recently, after facing job rejections and juggling multiple roles, I've caught myself wondering, "Am I going to be stuck here forever?"

Before we explore personal agency in greater detail, it's essential to clarify its meaning. The first time I encountered the word "agency" was as a freshman in high school. It was embedded in our learning rubrics and referred to skills such as problem-solving, self-advocacy, and taking responsibility for one's work. After that, I didn't come across the term again until I heard it in my favorite podcast, Wild Geese. This time, it was framed as being an "agentic person." I won't spoil the episode (it's definitely worth a listen), but the main takeaway that resonated with me was that living authentically often involves breaking the arbitrary rules and norms imposed on us and making our own choices.

Another definition I appreciate comes from Henrik and Johanna Karlsson's essay, "On Agency." They describe it as an "amalgamation of two skills, or mental dispositions: autonomy and efficacy." According to them, agency requires the ability to set autonomous goals in life and the capacity and willingness to pursue those goals.

This definition aligns well with the Pattison Center's framework, which outlines four "helpers" of personal agency: intentionality, forethought, self-reactiveness, and self-reflection. In simpler terms, these helpers suggest that you should set goals, plan for them, adapt as necessary, and check in with yourself throughout the process.

To further illustrate, let's revisit my car registration saga. I unknowingly applied the four helpers of personal agency to tackle this problem. First, I set my goals: 1) Get car insurance and 2) Register the car. Next, I planned what paperwork I needed, what type of insurance coverage I could afford, and whether I needed to make an appointment. As I went through the process, I found myself juggling documents, making phone calls, and experiencing mini meltdowns. However, I consistently checked in with myself, asked questions, and continued to make progress. While this may seem like a small and trivial example, maintaining agency over even the smallest choices in life gives you the ability and patience to handle more significant decisions.

Having a sense of agency—truly believing that I can make choices that shape my future—is what keeps me grounded when uncertainty arises. Being agentic doesn't mean I can control every outcome (though I sometimes wish I could); it means being proactive and taking responsibility for my actions. It involves trusting that my actions, both big and small, matter, even if I cannot predict the outcome.

So let me ask you, where do you feel like life is choosing for you instead of you choosing for yourself?

Finding Your Through Line

"You owe it to yourself to be fierce and stand up for yourself."

This line stood out to me while reading The Midnight Library by Matt Haig, and honestly, this book couldn't have found me at a better time. (No spoilers, I'm still finishing it myself!) The story follows Nora Seed, a woman weighted down by regret who finds herself in a library containing every possible version of her life. Each book represents a different path she could've taken, and through this surreal exploration, she wrestles with themes of regret, choice, and what it means to live authentically.

While reading, I couldn't help but see parallels with the same questions I've been asking myself lately: How do we come to terms with the lives we've chosen? How do we accept the ones we didn't? How do we define success when every path leaves another behind?

As if the universe wanted me to sit with these questions longer, I stumbled across a TikTok from creator @gregsebell. In it, he dissects the concept of through lines, an invisible thread that connects everything you do together. He uses creative celebrities as examples, showing how their different projects across mediums and media all point back to the same core theme. Hearing this made me wonder: what if I focused on making choices that fit my through line, rather than obsessing over the right one? Maybe that's how you pick the figs without feeling paralyzed by all the ones you'll leave behind.

So, how exactly do we do that? How do we find our through line? Unfortunately, there is no single magic method. For some people, it may be therapy, meditation, endless journaling, or self-care mantras. For others, it's a trial-and-error process, learning through experience. The process matters less than the clarity you arrive at. But to give you something concrete, here are the steps that helped me:

1. Braindump your interests

Grab a blank page and write down EVERYTHING you're curious and passionate about: design, psychology, music, language, whatever comes to mind. Don't censor yourself; anything goes. Seeing everything in one place gives you a bird's-eye view and helps patterns emerge.

→ Ask yourself: What themes or connections surprise me when I see them together?

2. Audit your life

Doing this sounds intense, but it's really about honest reflection. Over the past few years, I've journaled, collaged, and collected quotes and notes from books and podcasts that resonated with me. Looking back, I noticed recurring themes in things that were only clear to me after analysis.

→ Ask yourself: What values or interests keep showing up in different seasons of my life?

3. Define Your Non-negotiables

Once you identify your patterns, ask yourself, 'What am I unwilling to compromise on?' For me, it's my creative freedom, personal time, and mental health. I can't control the economy or divine timing (unfortunately), but I can control what I dedicate my energy to. Pay attention to the things in your life that leave you drained versus energized or inspired.

→ Ask yourself: What drains me consistently, and what energizes me?

4. Connect the dots

Align your interests, experiences, and non-negotiables, and you'll start to see your through line emerge. For example, in a past blog (Talking With Hands, A CODA's Story), I reflected on how growing up with Deaf parents shaped my design sensibilities. Their way of seeing the world made me more sensitive to visual communication, which is part of what drove me toward a career in design. The connection between storytelling and visual language is one of my through lines.

→ Ask yourself: How do my past experiences point to the same underlying drive?

5. Put it into practice

Practicing is the hard part, and it's the one I'm still trying to figure out. Knowing what your through line doesn't mean you suddenly have it all figured out. It's not a guarantee for stability, success, or rejection-free living, but it is a compass. Personally, discovering my through line has been a way to cut through the noise and chaos, reminding me that even if I can't control outcomes, I can choose my figs with intention.

A through line can be powerful no matter where you are in life. For the apathetic, it gives a sense of purpose to hold onto. For the overly optimistic people, it provides a sense of grounding or further direction. For those of us stuck in the in-between, it can be the thing that keeps us moving forward amidst uncertainty, even when we don't know what the job market or life itself has in store for us.

As we grow and evolve, so will our through lines, which means it's our responsibility to keep revisiting them and rediscovering ourselves.

→ Ask yourself: What's one small choice I can make this week that aligns with my through line?

Final Thoughts

This post didn't end where I thought it would when I first sat down to write, which feels fitting since my life has taken unexpected turns as well. Rejection is often redirection. Perspective is half the battle, and it's a choice we make. Uncertainty is something we live with daily, like a permanent mental roommate who never pays rent.

It's tempting to wait until everything is stable before making a move, but honestly, stability is somewhat of a myth. (If anyone has actually found it, please DM me the GPS coordinates!) Instead, I'm choosing to bet on myself. Not because I have all the answers, but because I trust myself to figure things out amidst the chaos, rejection, and existential crises that come at 3:00 a.m.

I'm not going to give you a five-step guide to fixing your life—mainly because I don't have one. What I will say is that life can be messy, draining, and often absurd. However, if we are willing to shift our perspectives, even slightly, we may notice possibilities we hadn't seen before. Small shifts can lead to significant openings.

So today, that means quitting one of my jobs and trading financial stability for a bit more creative freedom. Is it risky? Absolutely. Terrifying? Double absolutely, but it's necessary.

We may never get to taste every fig on the tree, but choosing one anyway and savoring it is what keeps life moving forward. And who knows? Maybe the fig you pick will be sweeter than you expected.