Still all quiet on the job front. At first, I was really gung ho about not letting the unemployment blues get me down. I applied for jobs every day, made sure my resume was updated and error-free. I even emailed certain companies asking why they decided not to select me for an interview when I felt I had the qualifications and that I was genuinely interested for any constructive criticism they could provide me about my resume. No response. I did yoga to help keep me active and mentally grounded. And yes, it’s only been two months (exactly two months to the day) that I’ve been fired.
I always thought I was the type of person not to easily give up in the face of adversity, but that’s not entirely true. Half of me almost always wants to give up when I’m faced with one of life’s many obstacles. After all, I left New York City because I lost my job and wasn’t able to carve out a semblance of a romantic life (one night stands don’t count). Of the usual things about New York that people always complain about were true in my case too. (You can only sustain the pace of intense living for so long, tiny apartments are super expensive, etc).
And now I want to leave Austin. I tell myself it’s because I don’t like the fact that you have to drive everywhere and I find that it’s hard to make friends in this city (which, true). Really, it’s because I lost my job and haven’t really been able to make my life work here after six years either. I have a boyfriend, but both of us have acknowledged we can’t do much for each other except work on ourselves (I’m unemployed, he’s underemployed). I love him and I know he loves me and we’ve managed to make things work under a very difficult situation. He’s a big part of the reason I didn’t pack up long ago. He’s the reason I hope I can make it work here.
Of course, I’m lucky. I have friends and family I can move back in with if I can’t find a job by the end of my lease in late July. As someone who lived in a foreign country when she was 17, who has lived on her own for most of her adult life, the very real possibility of moving back home in my mid 30s is a hard pill to swallow. I have the security of knowing I won’t be living on the street or in my car and that’s something I don’t take for granted.
I have fantasies of some magical event or person coming to rescue me from a life filled with a never ending cycle of occupational drudgery followed by unceremonious termination living a humdrum existence in a second-tier city. The other half of me knows that no such event or person exists, the only person who rescue me from said occupational drudgery and humdrum existence is me and I’m not up to the task of rescuing myself from my own life right now.