Unknown
Here we are.
Again. Standing on the uncertain edge of unemployment. Roads lead left and right and some are only roundabouts without an exit. How does one stay faithful on a journey with no clear road markers?
Vocation and location feel so important. They feel like everything. I think back to two years ago. I'd spent ten years at my job, through pregnancies and maternity leaves and transitions from office to home. Joe took on more roles, more responsibilities at his job. We'd refi the condo, buy out our leased car, get starter home in Westchester. The dream of starting over somewhere else still hovered, but work was good and jobs were okay and we had great friends.
It all seems so important.
What could be more important than where you live and how you spend your working hours?
Jobs end. Lay offs happen. Homes are outgrown. Friends move. Zippy compacts are traded for seven seats and no car payments. Kids grow and change and amazing you with their poise and maturity.
I don't know where we're going. I don't know how we'll get there. In the same week, Joe's current job ends and we turned in the lease on our car. Two of our teeny tiny ember tetras have crossed the rainbow bridge. Things I based identity on have crumbled.
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But I'm not what I do and I'm not where I live and I'm not who I walk to pick up the kids from school with. Neither is Joe.
I'm looking into the precipice of job hunting. We've been here before. We'll be here again. Each time, we're surprised that we survive. Maybe I need to stop being surprised. Even when I know everything, I still know nothing. For now, I'm going to wait for the next step to appear on the path, hold tight to my husband's hand, and make a leap.
Again. Standing on the uncertain edge of unemployment. Roads lead left and right and some are only roundabouts without an exit. How does one stay faithful on a journey with no clear road markers?
Vocation and location feel so important. They feel like everything. I think back to two years ago. I'd spent ten years at my job, through pregnancies and maternity leaves and transitions from office to home. Joe took on more roles, more responsibilities at his job. We'd refi the condo, buy out our leased car, get starter home in Westchester. The dream of starting over somewhere else still hovered, but work was good and jobs were okay and we had great friends.
It all seems so important.
What could be more important than where you live and how you spend your working hours?
Jobs end. Lay offs happen. Homes are outgrown. Friends move. Zippy compacts are traded for seven seats and no car payments. Kids grow and change and amazing you with their poise and maturity.
I don't know where we're going. I don't know how we'll get there. In the same week, Joe's current job ends and we turned in the lease on our car. Two of our teeny tiny ember tetras have crossed the rainbow bridge. Things I based identity on have crumbled.
Super Jenny Action Figure comes with MacBook and Mini Cooper! Get yours today!
But I'm not what I do and I'm not where I live and I'm not who I walk to pick up the kids from school with. Neither is Joe.
I'm looking into the precipice of job hunting. We've been here before. We'll be here again. Each time, we're surprised that we survive. Maybe I need to stop being surprised. Even when I know everything, I still know nothing. For now, I'm going to wait for the next step to appear on the path, hold tight to my husband's hand, and make a leap.
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