From Great Risk Comes Great Forward

DAY EIGHTY-FIVE: The Pauper Settles In

A weird feeling has recently passed over me.  It's weird because it's so foreign.  It's not something I've felt for the last quarter of my life.  And though I'm not foolish enough to believe it will last for years to come, I can confidently say that in this moment... I'm happy with my life.

What brought me to this utterance?  A risk.  A big one.  When I was a freshman in college - a point in my life where the world felt like the proverbial oyster - a senior I knew from College Democrats bestowed some advice upon me.  She was at an age where the world seemed less like an oyster and more like an ominous void.  But when she was discussing her plans to do Teach for America in a new city she knew no one in, she explained, "If the decision isn't scary, it's probably not the right decision to make."

Scary life decisions are the most difficult to make.  It's all there in the title, so it's not like I'm making a grand statement that will open people's eyes.  But one of the hardest things you or I will ever do is step outside of our comfort zone.  That warm security blanket that makes the day to day easier, but the long run impossible.

At the beginning of August, the idea of quitting my job seemed, ironically, impossible.  Why on earth would I leave the thing that has kept me going for four plus years?  This is what people do.  They graduate from college, find themselves a job, and they stick by it to ensure a life of financial stability.  But when you graduate in the midst of a recession, you get this curve ball that requires a bit of risk.

In 2009, the place mats where set for a life of drudgery for Miss Hannah Williams.  Working in a position so far from my major that I trained myself to laugh every time I admitted the difference.  "Majored in film?  What are you doing now?"  "I work at a law firm... yuck, yuck, yuck."

But it took a low point at work to point me in the right direction.  A moment of realization that spending my life hating the days and yearning for the nights would do nothing but subject me to a life of misery and regret.

Regret: The biggest devil of them all.  After a collegiate romance gone astray because I felt too inferior to reveal my true feelings, I promised myself I would never regret the things that I didn't do, but would rather regret the things that I did.  I took this to heart, but relegated them to my romantic life, as I thought anything else was merely what I "should" be doing.  And it took four years to realize that there is no "should" in our professional lives.  There is simply what we do.

So on that fateful day in August, when the fates fed me a can of unnecessary "whoop ass" at work, I realized that I simply could not carry on in this charade.  Paychecks weren't enough to keep me going.  Life had other plans for me, I was certain.  But I had eked out everything I could from four years of professional ambiguity.  It was time to take a risk.

I'll admit that waiting tables hadn't felt like my proudest moment.  In the beginning, I welled up inside nearly every day I slipped on my uniform and stared at myself in the mirror before I walked out the door.  Last week, I encountered a father and his collegiate daughter who asked me what I had majored in when I studied at Loyola.  I felt ashamed.  Telling this man that I attended school four years ago and now I am serving him and his daughter pizza with my degree.  It wasn't exactly what I pictured myself doing when I wore that cap and gown in the spring of 2009.

But then I added in, "I'm studying at Second City now."  And I continued to recommend some shows to him.  And I realized, I have nothing to be ashamed of.  I was working in a job that sucked my soul away like some kind of legalese Dementor.  And I had the balls to walk away from it.  And now I'm starting over.  There is no shame in changing your life.

And now, I stand as a woman who walks into work joyously.  My coworkers are wonderful.  I am obliged to improv with tables on a daily basis.  I wake up in the mornings and get to write instead of hopping into the shower to go to a job that will do absolutely nothing for me beyond giving me rent.  I have a new show opening next year.  I feel confident.  I feel strong.  And I feel happy.

The dust has settled around the rough patch of my risk.  And from it, the phoenix rises.  Though the future remains uncertain, it's a hell of a lot clearer than a life resigned to apathy.

It's All Relative

DAY SIXTY-ONE: The Pauper Loses the Paup

Well kiddies, unemployment isn't all the champagne wishes and caviar dreams the positive recession images would have you believe.  In fact, it's surprisingly the exact opposite!  I'll give you a moment to close your shocked and gaping mouths while you process this information.

In the meantime, here's an image to restore your equilibrium: a shark pony.  Or a Shpony.

The thing is, no matter how much money you save before self-induced unemployment begins, you will need to get back in the game eventually.  For a half-Arab saver like myself, that panic button gets hit much earlier than you can ever anticipate.  So after what seemed like months of applications and agony while waiting for responses, I had two interviews today.  (Please remember that in reality, it has been just over a week.  Time is relative, people.  Time is relative.)

The first position was for a marketing coordinator - the type of career I can see myself doing if this whole writing thing never fully pans out.  The type of creative job that I wouldn't mind calling home if I never become the next Woody Allen.

Or sell out and become the next Roland Emmerich

The interview turned into the longest interview I have ever encountered.  I got along really well with the interviewer.  It seemed more like a "shoot the shit" session peppered with remarks about my experience.  Three hours later, we were shaking hands and I was told the next step would be narrowing down the interviewees for a short list and going from there.  An arduous process that would hopefully end on happy news if I did as well as I felt.

And then as Jay-Z would say, on to the next one!  A restaurant position to tide over the Arab saver half of my person.  Finishing my chapter of "Gone Girl" early in the Starbucks down the block, I paced around the blocks near the restaurant trying desperately not to get there "too early".  I arrived a few minutes before 5:00 and asked the hostess for my contact person.  He ushered me to the back of the restaurant where a family most likely in from Cleveland mangia'd on a sheet of pepperoni pizza.  He asked me if I was currently employed.  I said no, and briefly explained my self-righteous answer that I left a job I saw no future in to pursue my dreams and felt that I wanted to return to a job I found I truly enjoyed: serving.  He cut in with "when was the last time you worked in a restaurant?"  I timidly mentioned "2008..."  He looked over a sheet of paper and then said, "Ok, so we'll have you start on Monday at 4:00.  Black shoes, black pants."  I found myself asking more questions than he had.  Suddenly that moment of rehearsed "interview questions" you are meant to spew out of courtesy of interest became necessity.

I shook his hand, and walked out of the restaurant.  I checked my watch: 5:03.

Ba-da-bing.  I got a job.

Decisions

DAY ONE: The Pauper Makes a Choice

Life is all about decisions.  It is rather common knowledge.  But for the first 25 years of my life, none of my decisions were difficult.  Therefore, this adage fell on deaf ears.  Ranging from the utterly useless "what do I want to do on a Saturday night" (hint: it probably involved eating Funions and driving around Frederick County) to the somewhat affecting "where should I go to college?"  Choosing the right college can be tricky, but the thing is, you are already on the path that was basically set out for you from birth.  Which college is really an afterthought.  It doesn't matter where you go.  You'll still at least have a diploma.

All this is to say that I never realized how important decision making was until a job interview in May, 2013.  Yes, approximately three months ago.  The question was posed, "What decisions have you had to make in your current job?"  After pausing for a moment to look deep down for an answer, a panicked voice inside just screamed back up, "You are screwed."  Because for 25 years, I managed to ease on down the proverbial road.  Hell, I never even like to pick the restaurant.

This is probably why I have spent the past four years as administrative support staff.  An underling.  A human punching bag.  Because for the first four years of my adult life, all I wanted to do was ignore the things that made me happy because the fear of rejection was so instilled in me growing up.  And there is no greater rejection on this earth than for creatives.  So why not simply sludge my way through life, earning a paycheck, and never getting my heart stomped all over by rejection?  Oh, because in lieu of rejection, I have opted for soul-sucking drudgery and zero intellectual stimulation.

If this is your chosen profession, please do not take this as a personal assault on your dreams.  Some people are perfectly content with a life in clerical work.  This is only to say that I am not one of those folks.  So I am now ready to ensure that my life does not become a metaphorical vacuum of passion and happiness.

So now I have made a decision.  I have decided that I want to pursue my creative endeavors: writing, performing, and generally utilizing the left portion of my brain before it shrivels to the size of a craisin.  But there is a massive Argionis & Associates, LLC leech sapping all of my creative energy.  I fear I shan't be able to do anything productive when I come home from work reaching for the whiskey over anything else.

And then it hit me.  I should just quit.  A solution so simple.  So obvious.  So... irresponsible!  WHAT AM I DOING?!  I CAN'T QUIT MY JOB!  AND IN THIS ECONOMY?!?!

Of course it is a terrifying prospect.  But no more terrifying than the idea of staying in my current career scenario for the rest of my days.  Timecards stamped and swathed in soul-suck day in and day out until I retire.  I can be like these guys, or I can be like this guy.

This blog will chronicle my newfound, perfectly chosen unemployment and (hopefully) eventual enlightenment.  Because I'm going to need something to break up all the resume submitting and cover letter writing that is hopefully more conducive than this.