Tuesday, August 27, 2013
at 9:57 AM
We're nearing the end of August but it's still a hot, Carolina summer here. I get a sunburn just walking to the pool. But as soon as night falls it gets so deliciously cool that it becomes a little easier to imagine long sleeves and boots and socks (socks! I've all but forgotten about the things.)
I am unemployed, still. Well meaning people at church, upon finding this out, ask what I do, what kind of work I'm looking for. "Uh, well." The heck if I know. Truly, the heck. Normally it suffices to simply shrug and say, "I was, like, an English major..."
I don't know what I want to do. This is disappointing, for an instrospective person who has a tendency to overthink things. I should at least have some sort of inkling. But I'm learning that, so far, all I really know what I don't want to do.
After months of working in a professional setting at the college nearby, I'm finding that it's starting to matter less and less, this whole question of what I should do. It's becoming less of a big deal as I accept that I am probably not missing out on some cosmic calling, at least not concerning a job.
I used to get so angry scanning job websites. "I am way too qualified to file papers and answer phones; I'm smart!" And then I would look over to Trevor. "Right? Aren't I smart?"
But God (I guess it was God? who else?) reminded me, yet again, that I was being prideful. And was that what I was really after in life, anyway? A swanky, suit-wearing career? No. I've never been that girl. I'm an artist. Who cares what I do for work as long as I'm making time for writing, for my "life's work" as they say.
So yesterday, after perusing jobs online until my eyeballs practically bled, I applied at a grocery store. Whole Foods, but still. Bagging groceries would have been so beneath me even in high school, but now? Now I am a married woman, involved in a church I love, writing a book I actually like, and on top of all that my bangs are finally starting to grow out. My life is not perfect, but it's so full that I don't need to find my identity or purpose in a job. Who cares?
Okay, a part of me will always care. A part of me will always loathe working entry level jobs to pay off debt for a college degree. But I'm making peace with that.
Anyway. So for now I'm waiting. I'm writing like a mad woman, punching away at the keyboard, high on caffeiene and life. Coming home from the libary with stacks of books I've never heard of. Having long chats on the phone with people I love. Being a housewife and, yes, even making dinner on occasion. Life is good. And no matter what happens next, I believe it will continue to be good.
So if you see me around town wearing a visor and nametag, well, you'll understand.