Have you ever had the odd sensation of feeling out of place, like being somewhere you don’t belong? Your palms get sweaty, your brow tenses…you feel like everyone’s staring at you and probably talking about you. But you’re stuck in that place and there’s no moving and no remedy for it.
I’ve felt that way, I think, my entire life. I’ve never been clinically diagnosed with anxiety or anything like that, but I’ve always had this feeling in my gut. I never fit in when I was in school, and even now I can’t name any lasting friendships from college.
But when I stepped into this job four years ago now, I instantly felt a sense of peace wash over me. I’ve written before about how I more or less fell into this field, but when I did, it embraced me with open arms. It welcomed me. I could step into a room of people and they’d stop and acknowledge me. They listened to what I had to say. I could speak for those that couldn’t. I felt useful, had a grounding sense of purpose. It was a feeling of surety like I’ve never had before. It strengthened my sense of self, helped me find a place of belonging. I formed relationships with colleagues and co-workers that I wouldn’t trade for anything. They called me when my grandmother was recently diagnosed with dementia. They came to see my newborn daughter when she was hours old. They helped me move furniture, and took me out for drinks on my birthday after a silly argument with my then-fiancé. I adopted them and they adopted me.
Even in the midst of all this, I somehow knew I would not finish out the year here. It was an inexplicable but intrinsic kind of knowing and something I couldn’t shake. At the risk of getting into delicate specifics, I’ll only say that I will be leaving this job in a matter of weeks and this determination was not my decision. It’s a strange thing to come to terms with, like having a plane ticket in your hand and then being pushed out directly onto the runway with all your luggage.
This was an incomprehensible, indecipherable decision to me at first. But I’ve since taken time to make my peace in God’s timing. It never arrives when we understand it, and it never arrives too early or too late but at precisely the exact moment He intends. Even now, with my office walls stacked floor to ceiling with files and Post-its and documents, I’m finding excitement in my impending departure. Ticket in hand.
When I started this Substack a few months ago, I did it first and foremost with the intention of proving something to myself. I wanted to prove to myself that I could write consistently and make a habit of it, and that I could be simultaneously self-aware and lacking in shame enough to post my innermost thoughts on the internet for strangers to read. I also wanted to give outsiders a look into this field, which is so romanticized and beaten to death in both TV and the media ad nauseam that we lose sight of the people who do these jobs in real life. It’s not for me to decide if I’ve accomplished that but I can hope that I have.
I have several unpublished essays on a variety of topics still waiting in the wings (a ‘from the drafts’ collection, if you will) that I was intending to post at specific times, before this impromptu change arrived. To me, I’d be neglecting my goal and my mission on this page not to share them, as sophomoric as they are. In the coming months, I’ll be publishing them as I planned. After that’s concluded, I’m not sure what this will become because I don’t know where exactly I’ll be.
I’ve taken a different approach this time in terms of leaving—I haven’t dusted off my resume just yet. I’ll be taking time off indefinitely to recharge. I’ll sleep in till 6 AM, give my little one a later bedtime, actually do laundry during the week and not let dishes pile up in the sink. Maybe get a dog. Dust my living room, have long overdue get togethers with friends, burn my Ann Taylor slacks and wear dresses full-time, even something wild like take a vacation. All the things I’ve been putting off until I have “more time.” Check in with myself honestly and without judgment, cynicism, or disillusionment. Find my self-confidence again. Hopefully, I’ll also have much-needed time to process and reflect more on the past years through this outlet.
I hope you’ll stick around. -G