There are certain things I try to remember when I’m feeling uneasy. The last time I had quit my job, I felt the anxiety kick in almost immediately. After all, it wasn’t just a job I was leaving, I would also leave behind a life–my starter life.
It was the first life I had lived truly alone at 27 and while it only lasted for a year, it felt like a lifetime.
And so this time, at 33, as my therapist predicted, this time would be different. The anxiety isn’t quite there. The negative thoughts almost feel like stale air that just needs to be ushered out the window.
But somehow, memories of my past life still haunt me.
Will I ever be more or will my potential waste away? For most of my life in Canada, I have been perpetually underemployed. People at my previous jobs would tell me how smart and capable I was, that I was meant for something more.
But it wasn’t that easy to actually crack that glass ceiling. And once I did, I was able to step foot into the halls of newsrooms and deemed enough– after two years of grinding in journalism school, and getting more in debt.
Funny though, I was the one who chose to walk away. I had prepared myself for three years and when I got there, I realized, “Oh. This isn’t actually what I want.” Or,
I’m too exhausted to keep this grind culture up.
But if I chose to walk away, where else would I go? Would I be enough for these other tall towers? I’d have to prove myself again. And honestly, I couldn’t care less about impressing gatekeepers. So much of my Canadian life, my Canadian identity was having to be do more than the average white-passing immigrant.
I have the rest of summer to mull things over, while my finances dwindle.
