It sounds funny, doesn't it? Losing your job. Like you've misplaced it. Like you might find it somewhere, slid behind a dresser or lurking beneath the bouganvillas. Like it might trot triumphantly down the path after days spent hunting mice in the winter wheat, and curl around your legs, purring.
Friends, two weeks ago, my job up and vanished. Poof. Gone.
I got the call only hours after The Librarian and I closed on a house. My manager informed me that the private practice I worked for was folding, and we were all, to put it bluntly, sort of screwed. It wasn't our fault. It was a combination of financial strain and subsequent, unforeseen consequences of a more personal nature.
Personal for my boss, that is. Not for me. Well, not until I discovered my final check was going to bounce and my insurance payments already had.
The worst part of it all was realizing I had to burst The Librarian's bubble of newly-cristened homeowner happiness. I didn't want to do it. I did anyway. She was upset, obviously, but we've been through worse. (Like the time I quit a job, and tried to bridge the gap by working at an ice-cream stand. Good for my soul. Bad for rent.)
It's funny, though. I've never been afraid of change. I've never lived somewhere longer than three years. It's not always by choice, but once I find a routine, I start to feel restless. Life starts to feel too comfortable and I get bored. I need adventure, inspiration, change. I seek out reinvention.
I spent so much time leaping off the edge that being pushed doesn't scare me.
So I filed for unemployment. I applied to jobs. I worked my ass off to get us moved into the new house in shape. I set up my recording studio, because I have paying audio work lined up.
Today, though, I finally sat down to write.
For the first time since I discovered my dayjob was gone, I committed word to processor and made stitches in the story I've been working on for several years. This big complicated beast is finally taking a shape that makes sense.
This evening, I felt really good. I spent the day recording, writing, and doing housework. I cooked dinner with The Librarian and spent my evening recording a video for my Patreon. I wish I could do this every day.
For a little while, until someone hires me, I can. That's the upshot. That's the opportunity. I get to play full-time creative until the work whistle blows and calls me back to the land of dark rooms, half naked people, and machines that cost more than fifty new iPhones.
For now, it's time to get shit done.