Three Months After Losing My Job
It doesn’t feel great, but it was for the best.
I was let go from my job in September. It was abrupt, and it was necessary.
I am incredibly fortunate (and I fully recognize and appreciate the enormous privilege it is for me to say this) that such a thing did not plunge me into panic. I have been dirt broke more than a few times in my life (think bounced rent checks and selling clothes at the secondhand store in order to afford that week’s groceries), and a loss of income during those times would have absolutely wrecked me into a full-blown anxiety spiral.
This, though, was a blessing. I’d had a few cosmic signs that something big was coming, a shift I may or may not have been ready for. When you keep pulling “Death” and/or “The Fool” (sometimes in sequence) in your tarot reads, you should perhaps take it as a sign from the universe that the times, they are a-changin’.
So when this, an otherwise gut-wrenching Very Big Deal, happened one Friday afternoon in September, I was oddly accepting. I closed my work laptop and went on with my day. I did some laundry, I made dinner with my family, and I poured myself a glass of Prosecco to drink in front of Netflix. All told, a perfectly nice evening. And the weekend that followed was lovely.
