By the middle of July, I was overcoming the drought by making big plans for the fall. I had booked a solo trip back to my writing cabin in Muscle Shoals, and we had finally nailed down the dates for a long-awaited trip to Fort Worth with my in-laws. I added the dates to the calendar with confidence. This summer had felt long and not nearly as eventful as I’d hoped, but there were still such good things to come. I had finally whittled down my credit card to zero (a lengthy feat after the setbacks of 2020), and I was ready to begin anew. 2024 had been a rough year so far; now it was time to kick things back into gear!
But life rarely offers you what you’re expecting. It’s tricky like that.
It’s cruel like that.
I hesitate with how much to say about this, but basically, about a week after adding those dates to the calendar, I was informed that the writers’ colony was shifting gears in 2025, and that I was no longer going to be working there. It was a gracious lay-off - while I’d thought I might have until the end of the year, I was still given a month to prepare. I renewed my search for jobs, meeting for a few (what seemed like) promising interviews, including one that was just a complete WTF moment. Each time, I held onto hope. I believed that this was it. Things were going to work out this time. I was going to go somewhere new, I was going to be even more financially secure, I was finally going to have a job that didn’t break my body, stress me out to no end, and prevent me from feeling like I was in the right place to start a family, to offer my nephews a cousin or two.
But once again….nothing. I was going to be (and am currently) unemployed.
And let me tell you, if that’s not a blow to believing you’re about to finally get your life on track, then I don’t know what is.
I know I’m not the only one who feels lost right now. There are a lot of people around me who are dissatisfied with their jobs, who have lost their jobs, who are facing truly life-shattering medical diagnoses. And I’m lucky in the fact that I have a supportive partner and family, a house that was given to us and rests on land that is paid for. I’m lucky, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel broken. I feel like I’ve survived 4 years of whiplash, of not knowing what’s next, only to come out on the other side feeling more confused than ever. When asked what I want to do, I don’t really know. My intention is to use this time to figure that out.
Deep down, I have to admit that I would’ve had a hard time leaving if I wasn’t forced out. I’m a little too loyal, a little too attached to the rose-colored glasses of potential, a little too scared to explore what else is out there and risk being disappointed with what I find.
So maybe this is all for the best.
Despite my earlier “screw the stars” comment, on August 15, my last day of work, I decided to draw a tarot card. So fittingly, the card I drew was Death, which sounds like a scary, dark thing, but is actually one of the best. We must die to be reborn. We must let go, no matter how painful, to open our arms to something new, something bigger, something better.
We must fall down to get back up again.