It has been three weeks since I left my full-time salaried position with benefits. In Vancouver, of all places. Three weeks since I tossed myself into the unknown and asked myself if I would sink or swim. I can’t believe it has already been this long and, if I am being honest, I didn’t think I would make it this far without completely crumbling (though believe me, I have come pretty close at a couple of points [ahem, quite a few times]). Simultaneously this has felt like the longest three weeks I have experienced in quite a while. Time has moved thick and slow like m o l a s s e s. I am still in medias res as the saying goes — I am not out of the woods yet — though it feels significant to me to be able to sit here, on a Friday night, with relative calm and optimism in my belly after such a long period of spiritual drought.
I don’t take the opportunity to reflect lightly even though I do not always answer its call to solitude. I am still learning the discipline it takes to be a creative person — a writer, in my case — though I desperately need to get back in touch with this generative part of myself, especially after simply going through the motions over the past eleven months, and perhaps even longer. It is both a privilege and a pleasure to be able to carve out an infinite moment from life’s hustle to think about what I have experienced and what I have been able to learn from it (there’s always something that can be learned). My tendency towards self-reflexivity is one of my greatest strengths though, like an under-utilized muscle, I am feeling a bit out of practice. Thinking about the last three weeks feels like a good place to start.
There is one thing that is clear to me as I continue to process the relative merits and pitfalls of my recent decision to leave my job, not to mention all of the emotions that have come along with it: for as long as I have been able to articulate it, my mission has been to break intergenerational patterns around mental health, trauma, and self-expression. This has often meant “taking the road less traveled” and leaning into the hard stuff because, well, life is hard but I insist on believing that it is not impossible, even when it feels that way (which it has many times before). Hard makes us find what is possible in a given set of circumstances; it forces us to move beyond our comfort zone, to create. As dear Anaïs Nin writes, “And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight inside the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” Indeed, it is oftentimes harder to stay where we are than taking the risk of choosing differently. Looking back three weeks on, I see that leaving an unhealthy work environment — one in which burnout, chronic lack of understanding, disillusionment, and resentment were commonplace — has been no different than the other leaps of faith I have taken in the name of mental health and wellness. I decided to give myself an opportunity to blossom differently. And blossom I shall.
Since leaving my position, I have been fortunate to reconnect with many friends who I had lost touch with due to time or circumstance. This has mostly taken place over the medium of Instagram where I have chronicled some of my initial impressions, feelings, and realizations in light of all this new free time I have. It has been deeply humbling to reconnect with people at different stages of their own lives and careers — some are newly married, others have recently lost a beloved family member, and others yet are in the midst of securing new housing in this prohibitively expensive city — who resonated with some of the questions that I posed around work, life, and purpose. Questions like, what are the costs and benefits of a conventional desk job when so many companies struggle to provide substantive support and leadership, the tacit assumption being that entry-level employees should find solutions to oftentimes structural, macro-level problems? I take pride in my work and can enthusiastically propose solutions until my voice becomes hoarse though without meaningful listening and consultation from upper management, my suggestions fall on deaf ears. But I digress. This is all to say that I am not surprised that the friends who did reach out to me are creative, ambitious, and intelligent people (oftentimes women) who struggle to balance the need to pay the bills with the deeper, primordial need to express themselves and create. This seems like a pretty damn 21st century human struggle to me.
I have often looked back to academia as a solution to my career woes. Back, because much of my work there feels behind me [insert imposter syndrome here] and is perhaps connected to a person I am not so sure I am anymore…I spent seven years in post-secondary and was convinced that I would continue on this path for a good, long while. I wanted to become an Indigenous studies professor, perhaps in an English department. I have not written off this option completely — this dream has held sway in my life for a long time — though I continue to unpack the “why” behind it: why this particular field, why me, why academia, why not something else…and so on. I suspect I will be asking these questions for a long time which befits important considerations about the kind of legacy I wish to leave in the world.
It will be three years in May since I completed my Master’s degree. I have slowly (oh, so slowly) become aware of my tendency to idealize and romanticize aspects of academia that I thought it had sole ownership over. Qualities like the time and space to think, research, and write; the emphasis on personal and professional development; the accessibility of print, electronic, and financial resources; and the presence of like-minded peers who can be turned to for support, motivation, and inspiration. The last three weeks — the last three years, even — have invited me to reflect on why I think these things can only be achieved within an institutional structure. To adequately answer this question would take a longer, more dedicated post though it has dawned on me that what my well-rounded, liberal arts education prepared me for was not necessarily work in a particular field — indeed, many people pursue higher education and end up working in a different field than they had anticipated — but rather it prepared me to think critically about the world and my role within it. Even more, it has equipped me with the tools to question the status quo and to choose differently, whether related to personhood, work, or life more broadly. To me, these things are worth more than any predetermined path could ever be — and this could not suit who I am better.
Hence, I have been in the process of formalizing the freelance writing and editing I have done over the past four years into my own business. I have always been interested in entrepreneurship though, as with most things, opportunities can hide in plain view unless you are truly ready to see them. I have absorbed a lot of business-savvy from my work last year with Shopify and my over ten years in retail. Even more credit is due to my partner who has truly taught me the ins-and-outs of running one’s own business and has encouraged my freelance pursuits from the beginning.
If I am being frank though, I am also simply tired of waiting for my credentials and potential to be validated by external sources. However, I also recognize that this feeling is a reflection of my own belief (or lack thereof) in what I have to offer. Case in point: I have applied for 15 jobs related to higher education and the community in the past three weeks and closer to 40 similar jobs since graduating. I have heard back from a sliver of them, most emailing to inform me that I was not successful (which, truth be told, is much better than not hearing back at all). I would like to caution others against making the same mistakes that I made in light of these “rejections”: I took them extremely personally and let them deflate my confidence completely. I doubled-down on the fear that I was already inadequate, these rejections thus confirming my basic inadequacy. Don’t do that to yourself because it is simply not true. If the door isn’t opening, it’s not your door. Instead, allow the rejections to help you explore deeper — what can I learn about myself and my work from being redirected in this way? What opportunities have I not entertained before that I am being now invited to consider? How can I restructure my perception of myself and my abilities such that I am open and available to new opportunities? It is also crucial to define what you truly value in life and work — what you cannot live without, what you need in order to thrive as your own unique person with unique abilities — so that you can seek out those things, even if they come packaged differently than you had originally anticipated.
These shifts in perspective have not been easy but are integral to the brighter outlook I am cultivating these days. That is not to say that I feel positive all the time and, in fact, I have been experiencing moodiness and frustration this week that I have not before encountered (sorry, Anthony…). The words of Khalil Gibran bring me peace in these moments: “Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. / Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.” I am breaking through in so many ways! I am designing a website for my business. I picked up casual, holiday work at Lush Fresh Handmade Cosmetics, a brand that I love and have lots of experience with. I am waiting to hear back from a second part-time job but if it doesn’t come through, I know I will figure things out. I applied to four more higher education jobs this week; I have not given up yet. I am writing this blog. I am keeping up with my fitness routine (for the time being). I am experiencing renewed confidence in my ability to handle tough shit. I am making myself do all the things that I felt too depressed and burned out to do while at my last job and it feels terrifying but good. I am returning to myself and that is worth more than money to me.
So much is up in the air right now and I don’t have a clear vision of what the next month will look like, much less the new year (it is the end of a decade, after all). What I do know is that I am capable of managing uncertainty, that I have done so in the past and will continue to do so in the future. Even more, the ability to define what I need and to actively seek that out — even if that means getting up from the table when love is no longer being served, as Ms. Nina teaches me — will never be a wrong decision.
