In Search For Neverland

So, it was New Year's Eve and I felt like I was living my life all wrong. And I would be damned if I was going to experience another miserable year like 2017 had been. Fuck, no. This time around, now that I got my health back and the pain was under control, I was not going to mess it up my chance with life again. I was going to find my happy, dammit.

I know I talk about death a lot. Y'all know I'm very aware of the ticking clock that's gonna be zero sooner than I would like. Knowing death is coming motivates me to push past my anxiety, so I can find my joy. When I'm scared, I think about how I probably have a hundred thousand hours left to live a good life, and the choice to do that happy or miserable is all up to me, so I better get to busy living the life I want while I still can.

Those months of bed rest gave me lots of things to think about. I remembered the younger version of me and what her dreams were. Responsibility had me pushing her down the list more and more until I lost sight of that little magic I used to cup with both hands.

I knew I had to do meaningful work. Something where I found my flow, you know? Only thing that did that was writing.

But that was all a fantasy. Adulting has requirements we all have to follow. There are limits to dreams. I've got bills and I'm Asian, so a stable job is more important than happiness. My Punjabi mother kept telling me to hold on and think positive. I did the grateful journal thing and tried to tell myself it could be worse.

But the morning affirmations were not cutting it anymore. 

I returned back to work and what was once tedious became intolerable.  Actually I had detailed fantasies about how I'd do it. Think"Fuck you, you're cool" scene from that movie, Half-Baked but with a lot more expletives. I had my outfit selected, down to the killer boots I was going to strut away on. It was gonna be an epic storm off scene. I was eager to "Bye Felicia" my job, like yesterday.

But I was going to be smart and find a lily-pad to land on before I jumped. I did the search for another job thing and got a couple of bites. There was one job in particular that I thought would work out but that fell through (y'all saw that vlog on my FB wall).

Then, I started to feel that familiar learned helplessness kick in again. That's when you got tired of fighting and you want to give in to your situation. Maybe numb yourself from the unhappiness with shopping for things  you don't need so you don't think about why you're miserable.That's why comfort is the enemy of growth. That paycheck was nice to have, and yeah it cost me to get it, but I would rather be stuck paying it than risk NOT having it.

It all came to a head January 17th. My turtle-faced manager wrote "Don't be too aggressive" in a private message during the telephone conference after I corrected one of the suits.

There was no mistaking the "Fuck You" response that seized my body. It's sorta the same feeling when you meet someone and know you'll never be friends regardless of how similar you may seem on paper.

Fuck you, asshole. Mothereffer, I wasn't being aggressive. And had I been a dude, you wouldn't have said anything like that, I know it. I didn't say that of course, b/c as I said, the phone conference was still going on. But his foolish mistake propelled me to kamikaze off the cliff.

I sent him my resignation five minutes later. During the same meeting.

Yup. I know. Insane.

My mother always did say I liked to walk that line between ballsy and stupid. 

Friday, Feb 2nd, I returned all my equipment and drove my ass home blasting Mary J. Blige's "Just Fine" and singing that anthem to the point of hoarseness. I didn't want to hear the doubt screaming inside my head. What the fuck was I doing? How was this not going to end up a disaster? I was going to end up like Edgar Poe, lying on a ditch somewhere, uttering my last words, "Lord, save my poor soul."

I voluntarily left stability to face a future of unknown. For writing of all things! Every fucking person in this world thinks they're a writer. What the fuck was I doing? Do you know how crazy a move that is? That's like giving up your queen in a chess match to move a pawn forward.

This is the end of week one. I wrote some but mostly, I cleaned. I purged everything from the house. Donated unused items. Rearranged the living room once again. Hell, I even cleaned my car. (By the way, did you know banana peels can become as stiff as sticks if left in that door pocket for more than a year?) I guess I was trying to physically see what I was doing inside my head. I had a lot to figure out.

But thank God for family. They were all taken back at first, but then that support I hadn't expected came flowing in. Hubby said, "I support whatever you need to do babe. You'll be amazing." I thought mom would freak but she was quick to support me. Sorta makes me teary-eyed that they're that confident I can do anything I want. Also, a little pressure cause I really don't want to look like an idiot for taking this risk.

This isn't forever. We ain't that well off. Student loans own us till we retire. But I'm gonna give it a few months. Money will be tight for awhile, so it's a good thing I like Ramen. If by fall 2018, nothing happens despite my balls-to-the-wall effort...(gulp)...then, I might put this writing thing on the back burner and return to the cubicle bee-hive prison thing.

But for now, I guess I'm on way in search of my Neverland. Wish me luck.