Before the letter, I was so afraid of losing things. My passion for writing, my job, a roof over my head. I was terrified every day like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. When I lost my job because of that letter, I was faced with my biggest fear and, shockingly, it didn’t kill me. Instead, I became acutely aware of how empty fear is. My plan was to get a 9-t0–5 and pursue comedy and writing on the side. But as I settled into my apartment and the schedule of graveyard shift, my resources were drying up. There were zero safe roommate opportunities on the horizon and my job left me increasingly emotionally exhausted and afraid. I was in survival mode, swimming in fear-based adrenaline to keep grinding. I was pushing myself more and more to figure out how to make things work. I picked up shifts, worked every holiday from Halloween through New Year’s Day, sometimes for twelve days straight. I was pushing myself to make it work despite how many doors kept closing in front of me.
Learning to dance when you think you’re falling