There is a time for incremental improvement, and there is a time for drastic and possibly ruinous change.
I tend to embrace the latter.
So when a recent opportunity led me to forfeit the security of my (now former) position, I was all in. My first job had revealed itself to be a questionable fit, and I don’t abide by uncomfortable circumstances any more than I do ill-fitting trousers. A broken spirit is every bit as unflattering as camel toe, and far more compromising in the long run.
I gave notice and interviewed. Successfully, in fact. I had a potential start date, a potential salary and a slew of encouraging emails from HR. You cocky bastard, I chided myself, I can’t believe you pulled that off.
And then the job disappeared. Budgetary hiring freeze.
And then my old boss found a new editor.
And then I was funemployed!
And then I was just unemployed, because one can really only handle so many Netflix marathons and peppermint brownie test batches. You know how I feel about ill-fitting trousers.
So I dusted off my Winning Smile™ and found a job serving upscale comfort food to celebrities. (I see you, Beyoncé.) And while my grand plan failed, I can’t say I regret making the change. Honestly, I like waiting tables. I like chatting up strangers. I like having flexible hours and a job that requires me to move. I’m even brazen enough to believe that this could be a positive step for my writing career. While there’s something to be said for the security of a nine-to-five, there’s also something to be said for intellectual freedom, and voyeurism can provide more useful creative fodder than even the most well-intentioned navel-gazing. (Translation: Crazy bitches make good stories.) (Not you, B.)
We’re veering into manifesto territory, so let me reign in the sensationalism to clarify that I have not been manifesting a damn thing lately. I have been coddling myself with good times to avoid a total meltdown. NBD. Sometimes we all need to choose drinking over thinking. I’m not an especially complacent person, so I can’t see the trend continuing indefinitely.
Instead, I hope this layover will give me a chance to indulge my creativity on my own terms. To redouble my commitment to health and happiness. To write for pleasure (and hopefully for more). There’s no use feeling bad about the circumstances. I won’t be a waitress forever, but I can be happy doing it for now.
So fine, call it a manifesto. One step back and three steps toward a life of my own design. Or something. Now let’s get back to talking about pretty stuff and yummy stuff. Peppermint brownie, anyone?
Have you made any major changes in your life lately?