The ABCs of Unemployment
What I learned during 2 months of #funemployment
Earlier this year, just a day before April Fools’ Day, I quit my job as a Product Designer at FiveStars. It was no joke — I’d been there for 3.5 years, and had made formidable relationships and seen the company through incredible milestones. We always joked that FiveStars years were like dog years — so after almost a quarter of a century, it was time to sniff out something new.
I didn’t have a job lined up. Most of my friends thought that this was a terrible idea, and advised accordingly: “Keep your day job,” they’d say, followed by a heartfelt “Don’t leave!” I tried it for awhile, taking phone screens in the garbage stairwell and ducking out for interviews. It felt awful, like I was cheating on a serious relationship. I knew that the right thing to do was to cut the cord.
The plan was to take at least one month off, and no more than three — to re-align, to relax, to figure out what I wanted to do next. What happened in the next two months was full of unexpected ups and downs, panic attacks on the regular, and navigating through a confusing, often conflicting, spectrum of feelings amongst anxiety, boredom, and carefreeness.
Here‘s what I learned along the way:
1. Uncertainty is hard, and that’s okay.
I was an emotional wreck that last week. People talk about their first days on a job, but no one talks about their last day. I ugly-cried like Kim Kardashian on a bad day, and hated that I didn’t have a concrete answer to the inevitable “What’s next?” question. Everyone seemed happy for me, but I wasn’t so certain myself. Mavis, a colleague from HR, handed me some tissues and a kernel of wisdom that really stuck with me: “Think of all the doors that are about to open for you! You’ll be creating space, which will make room for new things to come in.” It was a helpful way to reframe what at times felt like a black, monstrous hole of “what if’s” and blankness.
2. Stress changes you.
The morning after the farewell party, I got on a plane to LA. I was there for a bachelorette party, to spend time with family, to soak up the sunshine, and for an interview — I felt like I could do it all. Because my mindspace was different, so was my demeanor. Where I would’ve normally tsk-ed and complained my way through the car rental process, I waited patiently, reveling in the waiting and idleness, and conversed empathetically with the staff. I felt like my head was above water for the first time in a long time, and finally had the air to look around and appreciate everything around me. I could do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted!
Then I came back to SF, and…
2. The grass is always greener on the other side.
Some mornings, I would be walking to a cafe in some sloppy outfit, no makeup, and envy those people on their way to work, heels clapping on the sidewalk, cardigans belted in. These working professionals had somewhere to go, responsibilities to fulfill, people to see! And I…I could’ve not gotten out of bed and it wouldn’t have made a dent in the world. I felt lost and useless, and a surprising thought came to mind: I actually missed having a place to go and having responsibilities.
3. Your job ≠ Your identity
This was a tough one. I had gotten a promotion at the beginning of the year, and was feeling good about where I was in my career. Without a company/job title to attach myself to, I wasn’t sure who I was anymore and how I wanted to present myself to the world. I had to remind myself that there was a me before this job, and there will be after. It took getting used to, getting reacquainted with non-design related hobbies and interests, lots of writing and reflection to rediscover my core self again.
4. Routine = Sanity
Being an unemployed n00b, I would forget to eat and it’d be 4pm and I’d be completely exhausted. I learned from that, and developed a routine of going out for coffee in the morning (just to get out of PJs — so important), getting a quick cheap lunch somewhere, then plugging in for the afternoon (job hunting, writing, reading, creating). I would work out in the early evenings (thanks ClassPass!), then have dinner and unwind at home at night. Though there was flexibility in that routine, I found that sticking to some sort of schedule provided a canvas of sanity.
5. Time is valuable. Use it wisely…or not. It’s your choice.
I began to think of my days as an unmolded piece of clay. The more I let it sit unattended, the more droopy and bottom-heavy it would get, until it became an unshapely muck of colorless flab. The possibilities for what I could do in a day were endless, yet in that immenseness came an overwhelming emptiness. It required discipline and planning to mold my day into something useful, when no one was holding me accountable. The beauty was that the choice was entirely mine — and so I had to take care in choosing to do things that made me happy.
6. The art of doing nothing
So what did I do with all that time? Aside from a wonderful 10-day trip to Scandinavia, nothing remarkable — and it was magical. I call it an art because it took time to get over the guilt of not “contributing to society” in some way. There were times when I felt like I couldn’t look people in the eyes because they would find out, God forbid, that I was unemployed and a lazy bum. As the weeks went by and the shame peeled away, I settled into a routine, and began to fully enjoy not having to fight crowds at the grocery store, going to Pilates at 3pm, and chilling on a sidewalk with a book and a smoothie. I visited SFMOMA (twice!), had lunch with friends and toured their offices, listened to music, took naps. I found a job and am starting in a week, and I couldn’t be more ready or more excited.
When I was at a loss of what to do, I would imagine myself back in that chair at the office, or at another mundane meeting, and try to remember what I was daydreaming about instead of paying attention. And then I would go and do it. Most of the time it was as simple as going to the park and getting some vitamin D while dog-watching, or catching up on a podcast.
Change is scary, uncertainty even scarier — and though it wasn’t easy, I learned that both are necessary in order to create space for the next chapter. This limbo period only comes around once in a while, and it made me appreciate both sides of the coin: the water cooler conversations with coworkers, the feeling of busy-ness and fulfillment at a full-time gig; and conversely, the luxury of time and independence during unemployment. Perhaps one day I can find a balance of both.
