*Originally written whenever eggs were $10 a dozen, however long ago that was.
Cheerful, I know.
Time is moving at a baffling pace- at once too quickly, and stuck floating inside a hovering bubble. Stay-at-home, WFH, no come back to the office, get out and spend money. What money? Eggs are $10 a dozen. Travel? Flights are cancelled. Quiet quitting! No, quiet firing, quiet hiring (I think they’ve run out of rhyming the job markets’s despair). Job change regret! Oh despair, my previously morbid and unhappy cubicle, my Slack gone quiet, my steady drone of Zoom meetings, where have you gone?
I’m suffering from expectational whiplash and numb to another shooting.
I should be panicking- my bank account is dry, I have a part-time job in retail, and too often a case of imposter’s syndrome as I pitch clients for my copywriting business. I’m not actively panicking though, to be quite honest, I’m done with it. Three years of panicking has led me to too many unhappy jobs in the restaurant industry, a prescription for Lexapro, and heartburn. That feeling of dread, of “oh fuck, what do I do now?” has been replaced with a mixture of “it is what it is”, “I did my best”, and “fuck this nonsense”. I lost my well-paying job as a bartender, my entire savings, and my former partner to cancer these past several years. I am well and truly, over it.
Another feeling has moved in, it’s softer, mildly urgent, but somehow very powerful. Quiet panicking.
Why would this be powerful? Perhaps I’m making an excuse for still feeling anxious, worrying, losing my hair, what’s left that’s graying faster. It’s really just giving something old a new name. Giving a name to what has hindered me for years less of a hold. Quiet panicking is downgrading my imposter syndrome, my depression, and anxiety, to something manageable I can look at and go “Okay, enough with you.” I actually haven’t taken my medication in a week. No knot of worry or heartburn has taken over. I’m having productive days of taking care of myself, eating well, and occasionally overindulging but in no way feeling bad. I’m writing, creating, reaching out in professional circles, and creating small ripples. I’m okay with small ripples, not waves. Waves are overwhelming, but ripples are baby steps.
I’m taking my sadness of losing my former partner, my wonderful friend he became, and putting it into writing. Catharsis comes in many forms.
I’m taking my anxiety in having imposter syndrome by writing someone every day that they should hire me! Ha, ha, well, sort of. I’m much more professional than that. I swear, I think.
I’m taking my depression of losing my financial security in knowing that money is just money. It can be earned again and I am not my credit score.
I’m taking my hesitancy and considering the feelings of my characters again in a novel I’m writing. They want to be heard!
I’m taking my own damaged and compartmentalized heart and giving it a break. It needs love from me, not toxicity from those around that haven’t considered my feelings. It needs care, sometimes in the form of ice cream, sometimes in the form of not answering a text.
I’ve lost many people and cats I’ve loved in the past 7 years. That’s not a lot of time. Many of the people I’ve lost haven’t been to death, but have just disappeared. Lost to Covid fear and anguish, agoraphobia, physical ailments that keep them from socializing, failed relationships/marriages, and just plain old mental and emotional exhaustion. People don’t put the effort into friendships they once did. Maybe it’s for the best in some cases; I certainly don’t put any more effort into those I’ve come to realize are more acquaintances, or some former coworkers. I’m not saying that everyone you care about has to reach back out every day or even every week. Physical separation can be a huge hindrance, as is having children. Not having children myself, I give my parent-friends a big break. But not everyone. It helps to recognize that people who want you in their life will make the effort.
On that note of what friendships to keep, it helps to take inventory of those around you. Who is making you feel good? Who is making you feel like shit? If someone rarely to never reaches out, checks in, and has any point been a dick to you- they are not your friend. If you get those random check-ins, those “Hey! How’s it going? How your job/kids/pets/life”? and genuinely mean it, those are keepers. If I, if we all, have learned anything in the past few years is that tomorrow is not guaranteed, and your time and emotional effort are precious- don’t waste your time on those that give nothing to you.
Tales from the Latchkey Kid 