It’s been nearly a month since I lost my job.
Job searching has been a process. It’s made me realize I don’t know who I am. It’s also made me realize there are a lot of things I LOVE to do.
Twice in my life I feel like I was defined by my job – when I worked as an assistant in Hollywood I was pretty much a nobody. I was so and so’s assistant. I was his person. Everything I did, everything I thought about was in relation to the life of director I worked for.
When I stopped working for him I immediately became defined by another role: caregiver.
Every core of my being was about the quality of Millie’s day.
I’m sure some may disagree with me on this, but I don’t consider motherhood or parenthood a job. I don’t feel like being a mom defines me. Although I do start every morning hearing a chorus of “hey W’s mom!” as I walk W into his kindergarten classroom.
If I had to answer the question, absolutely had to answer, “Who are you?”
I am a writer.
Claiming this, accepting this, owning this.
A few years ago I made the bold declaration that I was going to write a book. Then I never made it happen. Yes, me. I could have made writing time a priority, but I didn’t. I have a long track record of not making time for myself and then I look up and wonder why I haven’t checked things off my life list.
A few days after being let go from my job I started writing. And rewriting. And crying (because some of this is hard to revisit, but it’s better to get the tears out now). It feels really good to push through. I’m writing because there is a story in me I want to share. Sharing that I am doing this is an accountability moment for me. It also might explain why some of my social timelines have more Alzheimer’s information in them. That is the world I am swimming in as I write.
Podcasting Aside: I have not surrendered my love for creating podcasts! I have been soldiering through some technical issues, including a brand new microphone that suddenly stopped working. I am looking forward to jumping back in with interviews and chatter as soon as I can.
Image Credit: Thomas Smillie, an object from the Smithsonian fountain pen collection