3 weeks ago, I quit my job without a new job lined up. I jumped out of the proverbial airplane without a parachute. There was no time to put on my oxygen mask. The plastic bag wasn’t inflating anyway. I left on my own accord, through a voluntary resignation. That’s the most I can say without being too chismosa. For anyone who has dealt with similar environments, knows the erosion of your sense of self and general outlook. One piece of advice from a former manager has stuck with me: “Do this job with integrity”. After 3 years of public service, I didn’t get much of a send off, not even an awkward office farewell party. But I have been able to hold on to my integrity and self-worth through all the challenging situations. And honestly, that’s the best feeling. I can hold my head up high and feel proud of the work I have done. The immense relief melts into my shoulders like ice cubes in a cup of sweet tea.
The square footage of mental real estate has increased astronomically in these job-free days. I no longer stress-refresh the same productivity apps. I can feel my creative juices pump through my veins again. I can invest my energy where I want. I have time to think about any rabbit hole, such as burying myself in the long IMDB trivia page for “A League of Their Own (1992). I have created art for myself (aren’t we all works in progress?). Provided free childcare support. Measured out square footage for wallpaper print I can’t decide. Hosted friends in my emotional/physical space like I used to in my NYC apartment. Bought enough plastic container bins to sort my life. I indifferently shredded letters from ex’s while organizing all beautiful snail mail art from long distance friendships. I put all my photo booth picture strips in one precious photo box. All these actions as a form of revolutionary self-care in this liminal space.
Creating this liminal space has been a lifetime of work. Professionally, to be able to hustle as hard as possible in that job market. Emotionally, to be able to uphold my self-worth without capitalism breathing down my neck. Financially, to be stable enough when rent is due every month. Spiritually, to speak to my ancestors who are looking out for their girl. Socially, to be vulnerable in my transition period with my support network.
I have no idea how long this liminal space is here for but I am prepared to be okay in this gray space. I can joyfully embrace this temporary, amorphous place. My skill toolbox for managing anxiety is stocked up because of this lifetime of work. In addition to this internal work, I am painfully self-aware of the level of privilege it has taken to be here. My working class background and professional white collar present-day self are sharing this space in peace.
I initiated a life transition with intention. Life transitions are hard AF! I am trusting my gut, the same one with IBD, to guide me in the next chapter of this mighty long thing called life. I’ll know where I need to be when I feel it. I can advocate for myself with strength and kindness. The intergenerational blessings, resilience, presentimiento and survival instincts are here with me.
What do I want to do?
Where do I want to be?
Fuck if I know… but I know this is where I need to be.