the gifts of wasted time
a 2-part summer series bonus
When I shared “the return” with you last week, I was secretly hoping I would have some good news to share with y’all soon. And the good news today is that, Hey! I Do! But first, I have to share how we got here, all the many things that were able to happen in this last month, and of course, why it all matters, because that’s what I do.
~~ Don’t worry, it’s just a 2-parter this time! ~~
If you asked me what I’ve been doing with all my free time over the last month, I would sheepishly look up at you with a guilty grin and say, “Having fun?”
Because while everyone recommends that the unemployed should be spending 8 hours a day, 5 days a week applying to jobs “like it’s your job,” I found that the most healing thing I could do with my time was create. It felt more vital to me, more pressing, more empowering. And if I could be happier, more fulfilled, more myself - then wouldn’t I make a better candidate for whatever jobs I was seeking?
I spent some time writing, yes, but even more time leafing through old magazines, cutting out inspiring words and images, pasting them together on notebook covers. I lit candles. I made beaded bracelets and bag charms. I saged my Hideaway. I read books. I perused the job listings, applied for 1 or 2, then returned to my magazine clippings. I did what felt good. I did what I needed to do to feel good. I did the next right thing.
Through this method, magical moments were laid out before me in abundance; without a job, I had the freedom I so often craved. When a friend reached out to go for a hike, I didn’t hesitate - I had nowhere better to be. When my mom said she planned to have a garage sale in a few weeks, I loaded up my car and met her there. Aside from my solo vacation to Muscle Shoals, I made road trips to Chicago and Ohio. I pulled off to visit flea markets and roadside peach stands. I spent quality time with family and friends, unimpeded by the stresses of daily life. I drove alone and played my music too loud. I slept in late when I needed to. I weeded a part of our home garden that I never dared to attack before. I walked the driveway and listened to podcasts. I met with a friend to write and drink coffee. I fixed barn walls and horse fences and helped nurse a baby filly. I ate too much fast food. I drank peachy, boozy whiskey drinks and my beloved pumpkin beers. I wondered. I wandered. I walked with the goats. And sometimes, through all of that, I felt entirely at peace.
There were days in which I started to believe I could do this forever - make some sort of living by doing nothing at all. And that seemed pretty good until reality set in - another bill, another longing, another unfulfilled promise of the future dangling in front of me like a carrot I just couldn’t reach.
Despite the joy of so many moments, there were still flashes of despair. In my first week of unemployment, I went to a Kimberly Perry concert in which she played a little-known song called “Comeback Kid.” The song had served as a soundtrack to my current life, one that I’d turn on as I drove home from work in my final days there, and as she struck those first chords, I instantly recognized them and burst into tears, right there in public. But it was healing. It was meant to be. And afterwards, we partied late at the Meadery across the street while I desperately contemplated whether my next phase of life should involve babies…or bees. (iykyk)
In a way, these days of mine were wasted time, though not entirely wasted in their efforts to bring me back into myself. Collaging journal covers in my shed, connecting with friends, figuring out what “just feels good” and feeling all the feels in-between, were all important and necessary steps of getting through the hardest days. And sometimes, the days were just plain hard and it was all I could do to get through them. I’d fold the laundry and clean the kitchen and bake some brownies just to will the hours away.
But overall, my weeks of unemployment were actually pretty darn great:
So when I looked at my phone at 8:30 pm last Thursday night to find out that Keith Urban would be playing a free show on Lower Broadway in just an hour, I wasn’t sure that I needed to bother. I’d seen him dozens of times before. I didn’t need to fight the crowd. I didn’t need to drag anyone down there with me. But the thought kept nagging - If you don’t do this, then what are you doing? Are you really living if you’re not taking full advantage of all that living has to offer? Go to Broadway, Heather. If not now, when…?
You see, what you need to know about me and Keith is that he always has a way of popping up at the most opportune moments. Looking back, his albums and songs - so often centered around themes of seeking out the brighter side of things - have narrated me through some of my life’s greatest transitions, from my first trip to Nashville, to the weeks before I left home to move to Nashville, to the time I met him during my first week at Belmont, to the time I met him during my last week at Belmont, to that first summer after college graduation when I didn’t have a job lined up, to my first real relationship, to the personal and professional struggles of Covid, and now…to another months-long period of significant transformation. Without fail, he always has a way of keeping the faith, of taking in the sorrows and the hardships, but never letting go of the promise that something better is right around the corner.
A promise that I needed right about now.
So at 9:00 that night I asked my husband if he’d go downtown with me and - quite surprisingly - he immediately said Yes (“because how many opportunities to be crazy like this do we get?”)! We hopped in the car and raced down the interstate and parked in our favorite cheap garage, making our way through the busy downtown streets until we were right there, stage in view, where a song called “Wasted Time” rounded out a very special, very long night.
Unlike the typical Broadway experience, it was a time of community, of positivity, of good, old fashioned FUN. And like the many Keith moments before it, I knew it would be added to the long list of harbingers for good:
It’s all going to be okay, it whispered. You are right where you’re meant to be.