“I’d like to finish our conversation from last Friday,” my boss said, greeting me as I barely set my bag down to begin my workday, “Will you follow me please?”...

“I’d like to finish our conversation from last Friday,” my boss said, greeting me as I barely set my bag down to begin my workday, “Will you follow me please?”  Although I found it odd considering it was a Wednesday, I concealed my irritation at her interruption of my morning ritual (and subsequent delay of my daily hot cocoa fix) and followed her, curious to see where we were headed.  As we approached the HR department it became clear what was happening—I was getting laid off.  

Before I’d even a chance to warm my seat opposite my boss and the HR witch externally known as the company’s HR Generalist, I was being ushered back to my desk with an armful of paperwork and packets to “help” me back on my feet—ironic considering only minutes before the same helpful people had just delivered me a serious blow.  

The hour that followed seemed reminiscent of an episode from Amazing Race.  And though I’d never seen the show, the premise seemed the same—I had exactly one hour to erase every possible trace of my existence over the last two years before being barred access to my computer and escorted out of the building—time was against me.  From selecting the trustees of my admirable household plant estate and extracting scores of personal digital files (because how else could I have lasted at that job without the relief of photo sharing and the occasional choice e-mail of forwarded funnies?) to gathering my small collection of food snacks and illegitimately ordered office supplies (things I wouldn’t bring myself to purchase on my own, like a computer keyboard brush, for example), the hour allotted just seemed like a cruel joke.  I could picture it now: a loud buzzing noise indicating my time was up and me being pushed out onto the sidewalk, a box of knickknacks in my arms and a pair of shoes being thrown out after me as if to say, “And stay out!”

I tried heartily to execute the remaining tasks at hand all while maintaining my composure to the folks around me since for them it was business as usual.  This was no simple feat, however, considering that I had no office from which to hide behind a closed door—instead, my desk was at a major intersection in the floor plan and my cubicle shared.  Anifia, my cubby buddy, looked curiously on as I gathered my things, trying my darnedest to exude a calm, confident energy so as not to attract attention (damn ego).  “Hey ‘Nifie,” I whispered.  “Yeah?” she responded, her body swiveling toward me in her desk chair.  “I just got laid off.”  “No way!” she exclaimed incredulously, using her best hushed-office-tone-of-voice, “Why?!”  A confusion set over me then as I paused for the first time since my morning had started.  Why was I getting laid off?

For months I’d been secretly wishing to get let go.  In the wake of the Wall Street market crash and watching thousands of people lose their jobs overnight, I found myself vacillating between feeling grateful that I had a job and feeling downright envious that I wasn’t collecting unemployment trying to figure out what I really wanted to do with my life.  All I knew was that I didn’t want to do this—clocking in to work from 9 to 5, Monday to Friday, and missing the entire day since I wasn’t fortunate enough to have a window seat; smiling a fake smile to passing co-workers while grimacing inwardly with disgust at myself for being so fake; engaging in rote elevator dialogue on a Monday morning (“So, how was your weekend?”) when I couldn’t have cared less and simply wanted to mourn the loss of my weekend without any distractions.  Had someone pulled me aside and asked, “Are you living your life to the fullest?”  My answer would be a sad “No,” but even sadder than that would be the likelihood that that admission wouldn’t be enough motivation for me to want to change things otherwise.  But now this was my chance!  

Like a fading rain cloud giving way to a rainbow, the confusion dissipated as a smile crossed my face and I summoned all the courage I could in that moment before responding, “Because it’s my time to shine!”

***

The days that followed were shifty at best.  No longer beholden to a routine, I quickly felt its effects and how dependent upon it I’d become.  The first few mornings I’d smile to myself at not having the need for an alarm anymore despite my body clock waking me up in time to get ready for work.  No more rushing to get in on time, scrambling amongst the millions of other New Yorkers teeming the city streets and cramming the subways.  No sir, not me!  I could do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.  Rush hour no longer applied.  I was finally my own boss.  

But then, that same liberty gave way to a sense of worthlessness on other mornings, when while on leisurely walks I’d find myself looking on at commuters with their attaché cases and their places to go and think to myself, What was I going to do with my day?  What would I accomplish by the close of business and how would that have contributed to society at large?

I consider it a blessing that I got laid off at the beginning of summer, when the weather was conducive to being responsibility-free.  It was difficult enough dealing with these emotions as if I were perpetually PMSing—I couldn’t have imagined it happening in the dead of winter.  Then again had it happened then, I suppose I would’ve been grateful not to have to leave the house.  It all depends—a true life lesson that’s been reinforced as the days of being joyfully jobless (a term I picked up from a book) have grown into months was that perspective, while integral to one’s experience of life, pales in comparison to gratitude, which ought to be practiced daily regardless of the circumstance.  

Without wanting to come across as ignorant of the fact that losing a job could, as it has been for many, become a precursor to losing other things like a home or car, it surprisingly amounts to only that—losing things.  The importance of what those things symbolize is what attributes our reaction to their consequential loss or gain:  devastation or elation (or somewhere in between).  It hasn’t been an easy road.  One full of twists and turns, straight-a-ways and seeming dead ends, but through it all, an enduring faith that prompts one to continue believing, and not to give up.      

A mental exercise I’ve made a point to practice is thinking back to the points in my life before I had those things, for instance, to think back on how my life was like before I got that job.  It helps me to better understand the context of what I’ve been going through—I didn’t just come to life when I got this job and certainly, my life will continue on without it.  It already has!  In the end, being alive is the gift.  And being healthy is the added plus.  

And while I haven’t felt fully redeemed in my time of joblessness I rest easy in knowing that I am not alone in this and that I am better off seven months out than I was on that initial day.  They say misery loves company, and while I believe that to be true I also believe that joy is contagious too—it’s simply a matter of choice.

In the time that has passed since I’ve lost my job I’ve had to make some very tough decisions, the toughest being the decision to leave behind the life I’d built for myself in New York and return to my home state of California.  In a perfect world I would have stayed, or had I been more selfish or self-seeking I could have chosen to remain, find another job and ignore the fact that an elderly grandmother was in need of a younger, more able-bodied granddaughter to help around the house.  The pros and cons were numerous and while I could have debated until the cows came home (which I did at first, resistance was strong then), the answer became seemingly clear—life has a way of doing that to you when the distractions of job responsibility, income, and spending power are no longer high-ranking factors—love is the answer.  

With the joys of an unemployed summer now an afterthought and fall in full swing, I packed my belongings, bade farewell to friends, a boyfriend and the city I’d grown to love, and embarked on a nine-day cross country drive with my puppy Charlie.  The trip itself was amazing and I was grateful to have had the opportunity to see the country I’ve only otherwise passed over in an airplane.  I have to admit that pulling into my grandmother’s driveway elicited an instinctive urge to hit reverse and keep driving.  

It’s been tumultuous returning to my hometown—despite being a native I at times feel like an alien with the vague notion that I’ve visited before.  Initially I fought feelings of failure for returning home the same as I’d left it—unemployed.  And although I’m still in the process of settling in I’m confident that there’s a purpose in all of this.  My experiences have led me to testify to the truth that a little love can go a long way.  It’s all you need.