There’s shame in unemployment, and I've certainly felt it. Work has always been an integral part of who I am. And in a world where we often put work above all else, it’s taboo to talk about the joys of unemployment. Yet not having a role to fill for 5 months has prompted me to invest in other parts of myself, and I have to say, it’s been a gift. I’ve decentered work and reprioritized everything else.
I’m aware of the privilege I have to experience joy in this moment. Savings, a working partner, a safety net, nobody to provide for, and relative certainty that I will be re-employed. Maybe that makes my sharing of this joy shameful. But it’s true to my experience, so I thought I'd explore it. Without work, I’ve felt a flip in priorities. Instead of checking email, I'm checking in with myself. Instead of squeezing in meals, I'm cooking. I have more energy and am moving more, in ways that make me happy. I’m reading more. And I’m writing more. From movement, to meditation, exploring spirituality and religion, reconnecting with friends, staying in touch with family, visioning the future, dreaming up goals, and getting outside, my self care game has flourished. Building routine has kept me rolling and grateful. I’m attending virtual events and learning. I sometimes pack my calendar, but see this filling up as a way of seizing time. I’m not always doing self care perfectly, and that’s not the point. But I’m practicing it more. As much as I’m eager and trying hard to get back to work, I've gotten a sweet taste of what retirement holds. It’s been life affirming to have time for things I love and are good for me, and I’m wondering how I can keep these jewels in my life when I start back up. I’m exploring how to commit deeply to my work while monitoring its defaulting to top priority. Candles, stretching, fresh air, and baking are my self care secrets. So is the presence of mind to pull up my blinds and watch the sky change colors, taking out the garbage as an opportunity to walk around the block, and keeping up with these Tidbits. I’ve rewired my brain to value these things a little more and hope to carry them forward to manage stress better than before.
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Our move from NYC to Boston (with a few stops between) was smoother than expected. With hand sanitizer, masks, and gloves in tow -- plus the exceptional help of movers and parents -- we made it out alive. Two qualities that helped us most: my resourcefulness and Kyle’s decisiveness.
Packaging up in NYC, Kyle was worried. Somehow we had managed to accumulate a lot into a studio. It must’ve been the unusual feature of four closets. I looked up how to pack a U-haul like a game of tetris, but my “it’ll be fine” became less confident with his increasing worry. This prompted a swift process of throwing out, recycling and donating. Then the apartment search. I’m famous for making lists, but Kyle can do the mental math of comparing places and quickly come up with an answer true to our needs. I leaned on him to navigate this with confidence when my mind got distracted by possibilities. We prioritized his commute, access to transit, and most importantly these days, separate working spaces. We managed to find a place with more than we had in NYC for less, partly due to a decline in city living. But with just one closet, we did another round of filling bags to donate. Hand-me-down furniture was our most resourceful choice. We were lucky to have old furniture from my parents, my grammy, and a family friend. Thanks to a few stops for pick up, a dark furniture marker, new knobs, and fun times mixing and matching, the old became our new. The move was not from point A to point B, and I was the designated driver. From the Bronx to Harlem to NJ to Mass, I wore my truck driver badge proudly. Even accidents brought joy. We covered stained surfaces with decorative placemats. Our old coffee pot spilling often required us to find a new spot for easier clean-ups. Turned out we liked it better there. I dropped a piece of pottery from Kyle’s grandma while packing, but turned it into a beautiful piece of art by @hamsamade There’s a little Marie Kondo in this. Losing track of what we packed away made us more willing to give it away. We rediscovered what we had and reprioritized what we needed. And we’re starting off our time in Boston more agile, a little lighter, yet full. Combing through jobs, I bounce between feeling like I’m a jack of all trades (thanks to years in nonprofits) and questioning if I even have any hard skills. It’s a strange spectrum that I slide across weekly.
. But early in my search, I was lucky to learn a valuable lesson in imposter syndrome. I applied to a dream job, what I thought was an absolute reach, just for the heck of it. It was an executive director position and I was shocked to even get a first round interview. I was about to speak with the person I'd be reporting to, and I got dressed to communicate “serious leader.” Fifteen minutes beforehand, I get a pop-up: phone interview. I was dressed to impress no one but myself. And as it turns out, I was the person who needed the most convincing. . I moved from round one to round two (this time on zoom & I was ready!). I completed a writing assignment, and then, somehow I was at the final round. I devoted my time to the interview process and couldn’t believe I had made it this far. I found myself deeply questioning myself and my abilities. There was a voice inside me shouting, you fooled them! How awful was it that I was tricking them into thinking I could do this? This voice would follow me to each interview, but somehow I would shut it off just in time. I'd think: It’s part of the trick! You gotta come clean! . I attempted to counter the negativity: they must like something if they're keeping me around. Maybe they want someone younger and fresh? Still, I had a lot to prove. I did tons of research and worked my butt off putting together a 90 day plan. I rehearsed the heck out of it. I’d never prepared so much for an interview. . There’s no surprise in how this ends. Ultimately, I didn't get the role. They said they’d hold my resume, a small win, but the bigger win was knowing that I could reach higher. It gave me full permission to position myself for bigger roles with more responsibility. . I’m in another interview process for a role that’s starting to feel like a reach. I feel the pang of "you’re not good enough" creeping in. But now, this new thinking starts to kick in too: You can do this. You've done it. You will give it your all. I just finished reading (well, listening to) Michelle Obama’s Becoming. It’s a memoir you probably heard everything about a few years ago when it came out. She wrote it when she was in transition from FLOTUS, when she was still envisioning what her next chapter would hold. And here we are now, at another turning point for our country. However, Becoming wasn’t a particularly political book and neither is this post. What I want to say is, inspired by Michelle's words, a bit more personal.
Having her voice in my ear over the last month, was refreshing company each morning during these peculiar times, and her words resonated deeply with where I am in my journey. I’m in transition in so many ways. Between jobs (in a pandemic and economic downturn no less). In a brand new city. Socially disconnected. Engaged to be married (happy, but transition still). And at the end of my 20s. There have been times I’ve worried. About the shape my next steps would take. Where they’d lead me, and if they were the “right” steps, and if they would lead anywhere at all. There are times, too, when I long for what’s passed, especially communities I've been a part of, relationships once closer, and the certainty of filling a familiar role. Yet, somehow, despite the layers of unknowns, I feel optimistic. With all the in-betweens and uncertainty, something in me has remained steady. I’ve felt a strange energy, an undercurrent of curiosity and wonder for what lies ahead. I've found myself reflecting often on this part of me. It’s a curious thing, really, to feel hopeful. Especially in moments of ambiguity or change. Maybe it’s because I've felt certainty before. I’ve been lucky to live with richness and strength and connection and wholeness. So, I believe, there must be more to come. Michelle closes her narrative with optimism, facing her transition still with countless unknowns -- for herself and the country -- but holds onto a deep sense of hope. She says her goodbyes, prepares her transition materials, with her own agenda to reach new goals. She plans her vacation too. But most importantly, she shares a true belief that there is so much story yet to unfold. I've been reflecting on the things I've observed, thought about, and tried during this time. . Maybe it’s the disconnection of this moment, or wanting more ownership of something, but I felt an urge to share. . That’s why I’m bubbling with excitement to launch this lighthearted series of posts, part-blog, part live-journal, part learn as we go! . All I know is I’m filled with lots of little ideas that have been piling up. About this wild ride of this job search, what I’m reading, creative projects, my slow attempts at learning harmonica, getting to know a new city and trying to plan a wedding during a pandemic, and other random sparks of inspiration I’ve stumbled upon. Maybe I'll turn those little ideas that have piled up into a little something more. And maybe they’ll offer some laughs or insight. Maybe even some semblance of connection. . They won’t be much. Just little moments. Something like a collection of tidbits from this time. Follow for TidbitsI post a new tidbit every Tuesday on Instagram. Follow me to get weekly tidbits!
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