Whether you find yourself staying positive through the undetectable power of Keith Urban playlists, tarot card drawings, crystals, sage smudges, or gratitude journals, I’ve gotta say…none of it can ever really mean anything if you don’t believe in it. And sometimes, it doesn’t take long for that belief to slip away.
Just a few weeks ago, I was cleaning out items from my house for a garage sale, coming across bracelets and dishes and stones and artwork emblazoned with what was once my favorite word, Believe. I paused for a minute, quickly throwing them all in the “To Go” pile; I didn’t want to see them anymore. Believe had been a word that I’d carried with me since middle school. It was the word I’d clung to whenever I dreamed a crazy dream, whenever I was faced with a difficult transition, whenever others coyly smiled and warned the odds were probably against me. It had been a word that I’d carried into adulthood, deeply into the job I no longer had. Now, it felt like my faith in it was failing. I mean, where had all this supposed belief gotten me but unemployed, listless, and wondering What Next?
I needed to separate myself from that word, I told my mom. I needed to get back to a place where I could reclaim it in my own way.
The morning after that fateful free concert on Lower Broadway, I was trying to do just that. It was #HappyKeithDay, an age-old mother-daughter tradition rooted in making a celebration out of the release day of new music we were excited about. I was also slated to find out whether or not I’d gotten a new job that I was vying for. A few days before, I’d had two really great interviews, but now, the doubt was creeping in. There was probably someone better than me. Someone more qualified. Someone with a more “contagious personality.” The library was actually the place I had first applied to back at the beginning of this story. It was there that I’d discovered I could work in one without a degree in Librarian Sciences. I could stay close to books, close to writing, close to something that made other people - and me - feel good. But while that job hadn’t worked out, I’d made a connection there - I’d opened a door - and this opportunity felt like I might actually get to walk through it.
Dang, was I nervous.
So, in lieu of waiting by my phone on Friday, I drove to Target instead. I played my favorite old Keith songs. The sun was shining (and that road kept winding through the prettiest country from Georgia to Tennessee). I pulled into the parking lot and walked in to find my copy of the new album accompanied by a sweet Starbucks drink, per tradition.
Except I got there, and I couldn’t find the album. (Strike One.) I asked for help, and luckily they found it, then checked out and made my way towards the Starbucks, only to find out it was closed. (Strike Two.) So I placed a mobile order and drove across town to another location. By this time, I was sure my phone would have rung…but it hadn’t. So, again, in lieu of waiting, I decided to help out with some farm chores, which turned into the better part of several hours. When I returned, still no call. (Strike Three - You’re Out!) The sunshine of the morning was turning to clouds…or at least that’s how it felt.
As the rest of the weekend went by, I felt lost and worried. If not this job, then what? I scrolled through the job listings, ever disenchanted. Surely, by Monday, I would hear something, but the chances of it being good news felt slimmer than ever.
So much for belief, Keith.
Monday rolled along and I busied myself again, to no avail. The phone still wasn’t ringing. I checked my missed calls and my voicemails…and nothing. I could feel myself slipping away, slipping deeper into the sadness, losing all faith completely. It was my worst fear - I was a failure. Again. There might’ve been a teensy little stream of light peaking out from that closing door, but was it for me?
Come Tuesday morning, I woke up early with a pit in my stomach. Out of habit, I started scrolling through emails, subconsciously seeking out fall sales and new Substack posts from other writers, when my eye caught sight of a familiar name. Curious, I opened the email to discover THIS shocking piece of news:
The library had called on Friday. They’d left me a message. They were awaiting my response.
Surely, SURELY, they didn’t want to talk to me about how they didn’t want me… right?
I checked my missed calls and my voicemails yet again and still there was nothing there. With apology - and the kind of nervous excitement that comes from the expectation of good news - I called in to discover the truth. Which brings to my alternative title for this post:
I’m Entering My Library Era.
And to be entirely honest with y’all, it feels new and exciting and scary and intimidating and great to have something solid but also kind of sad to no longer be basking in all the joys of freedom that I experienced in unemployment, which, admittedly, would have been very short-lived amidst the daily stresses of actually being unemployed. Deep down, I know it’s meant to be. Even as I tried my best to push it away, belief found its way to get the best of me.
A Final Note:
I feel compelled to acknowledge that I don’t make a habit of sharing really good news here very often, and that I’m not here to rub my “It all worked out!” story in your faces. If you’re still struggling - with anything - I feel you. I’m sharing this in such a way because the writer in me is so satisfied to have a timely conclusion to this whole saga, one that probably holds more sense and meaning to me than it does to you. I’m sharing it because I’ve lost hope and regained it so many times, and I know I will again. I’m sharing it because I truly hope that whatever you’re seeking is also right around the corner of your own winding road.
What I’d like to leave you with is this: make meaning of your journey. Seek out the breadcrumbs. Find power in silly things. Write it all down to remind yourself. And then, try to relax and enjoy it? Because in that, there is power. And hopefully, there is peace. Peace found in finally accepting the end of one thing…and the beginning of another.