I’ve been pretty terrible at getting personal lately. I’ve sunk my teeth in to the business of writing short stories and I just can’t stop; it’s thrilling and addicting and my mind is constantly on, creating the next creepy thing I’ll pen. I’ve also been wrapped up in happiness and decision making and it’s been beyond great…but I’ve come to the realization that I’ve also been really, really checked out, and there’s a solid reason for that.
I can’t believe I’m writing this down, but inauthenticity is something I just can’t condone. I haven’t shared this with many people, mainly because it’s never happened to me before and I didn’t really know what to do or say. I lost my job the week before Thanksgiving, for reasons that surpass my comprehension.
I’ve somehow remained calm, spending time combing the internet for jobs, reaching out via Facebook to people that I know that know other people that may be hiring or may want a friendly face on their team. I’ve looked at freelance work and part-time retail and so on. Rent is due today and I have not a clue how I’m going to come up with the rest since severance wasn’t offered and I just flat out refuse to file for unemployment. Pride is a very, very large wrestling opponent.
I’m embarrassed to the umpteenth degree because this has never happened, and there was no real negative reason for the termination. I won’t get in to it, but suffice it so say that the thought that creative-minded people and business-minded people can’t work together was imparted upon me. “You’re just not on the right bus.”
I’ve gone through so many emotions, stemming from relief that swelled to anger and everything in between. I’ve spent some days being as proactive and positive as possible, and others…well, not so positive.
I’ve circled around to so many things, but one idea, one fact about myself that I hate, really chokes me: I find swallowing pride extremely difficult.
I’m so sick of worrying about what everyone will think; I thought I rid myself of most of this when I got divorced last year (holidays are just really my thing, obviously.) I’ve realized how the opinion of others really controls your thought process. I won’t say “controls our lives,” here, though I typed it and deleted it. I don’t want to give humanity that kind of power.
I am struggling with several realities right now. To hear that I’m not on the right bus is hard to comprehend. When does that happen? I’m on the verge of twenty-eight and I want to know when I’m going to get it right; I want to know when I’m not going to end up on the wrong bus.
I have spoken at length with my closest family and friends about the matter and they all have different answers; they’re all on different modes of transportation at different milestones in their journey.
I’m exasperated. I want to know, are any of us on the right bus? I mean, really and truly on the right bus, in the right seat, with the right cabin partners and driver? Or do we all just randomly buy a ticket and hope for the best?
I don’t think the soul search ever ends. I’ll be forever in the back of the wrong bus, with my eyes staring out the window, longing for my own boat and the sea.