in which our heroine is terminated

It happened! It's here! The Termination. And at such a time!

When last I wrote, I had taken back Tuesdays, and it ended up being the best, most affirming thing I'd done for myself and my practice in ages. I was booked and busy and happy and flourishing on Tuesdays, and it made the rest of my time more endurable. But after a few months, the novelty wore off, and hating my life four days a week instead of five no longer seemed like much of an improvement. Still, they started noticing me at work, learning my name and realizing what I could do for them. I started getting extra training and special projects, and the boss's boss in Rochester even asked if I planned to apply for a permanent position because I was "so good." But the fact remained that I was deeply unhappy in that place, alienated by corporate culture and -speak, undervalued and underpaid. If anything, I needed less time in that cubicle, and certainly not more. The fabric of my half-desk cube walls made me twitchy enough to take a photo. To remind myself of where I didn't belong:

the actual fabric of my actual cubicle...nightmare-inducing, what?

Still, I stayed. I stopped being so active in seeking other work, better, more meaningful work. I appreciated the fact that I did have regular income, as little as it was, and that I didn't have to sacrifice my evenings and weekends for the temp job -- something many part time positions seem to require. I appreciated the efforts of my cousin, who'd facilitated getting me the job when I was very desperate indeed. I was rather resigned, except for happy Tuesdays. The self-hatred was ironically paralyzing.

Over the winter, I learned that Neil Gaiman, one of my very favorite authors, was coming to Syracuse for a lecture in the spring. Syracuse! My parents offered to send me, and I looked forward to his visit for months. But a few days before the lecture, I started feeling very existentially anxious. Here was this man, this writer, coming to speak, coming to read, and I'd always admired him and his work so much. I imagined meeting him, this person whose stories and storytelling so affected me; I imagined what he'd say. I think of archetypes when I think of Neil Gaiman...I think of metaphor and language and magic and identity. I imagined meeting him and I imagined him asking what I was.

I imagined him asking what I was.

Because that is the question, isn't it? And what could I possibly say? I'm a healer that spends most of her time processing insurance claims. I'm an underemployed priestess. Would you like to see my cubicle fabric? I have a photo here on my phone. I felt so ashamed of myself. And I journaled and meditated and wondered how I was ever going to lose this job, because I simply needed to lose it. If I couldn't answer to Imaginary Neil Gaiman, how could I answer to myself?

The day came ... April 29th ... and my friend Megan and I had dinner and talked and made our way to the theater. We've been supporting each other through some of these questions lately, and wondering how and where we would land, if we were to take better care of ourselves and our dreams. We've known each other since high school (that's ages!), and it's been so good to speak to another woman of heart, a fellow priestess, healer, and seeker. Funny how it's easier to trust a loved one's path than your own, and how powerful it is to see trust in your process reflected back by a smart and compassionate friend. (I've really valued our talks, Sev.)

We settled in for the lecture in our box seats (thanks, Mom & Dad!) and I noticed a call and voicemail from Rochester. It was the temp agency, an urgent message at 7:30 in the evening to call back ASAP, that I oughtn't report to work again until we spoke. I looked at Meg and told her I thought I just got sacked. Waiting for Neil Gaiman to go on stage. It was a Gaiman Miracle! And I sat through that lecture wondering if I was released. Knowing I had been. Knowing it was a gift.

And I thought: How am I going to support myself? What am I going to do? Yay! Can I build my practice up quickly enough to work for myself exclusively? I should have about 2 weeks' grace before I need a regular income coming in. Yay! I never have to go back! They have my sweater. Oh, who cares about a sweater? Yikes, what on earth am I going to do? Thank you! Thank you, higher self. Thank you, Megan. Thank you Imaginary and Real Neils and also Universe. I'm not sure what I'm going to do. But yes.

And Neil spoke. And it was wonderful. And he is an author and that is who and what he is and who and what he does. He spoke about his work and he read a bit and he answered questions from the audience. Toward the end, he answered whether he had ever taken a day job. And he laughed and said no. He said, this is what I like to do. And this is what I'm good at. So, no. 

Just that.

I don't know what kind of support he had, if he was ever a Struggling Artist or if he was always just busy and successful and reasonably able to support himself and his family. I do know he works like mad, and his work is deep and true. It is meaningful to many, and celebrated and awarded and purchased and shared, as it should be.

I hope I am able, in my way, to support myself and be happy and comfortable doing work that aligns with what I am. I've been quite busy with JHA since news of my termination broke, and I am nervous that I won't be able to sustain that momentum. I am trying hard not to contract, constrict, sabotage this abundance. I am trying to honor this gift of time and space. I am sitting in Barnes & Noble and have forced myself to buy a coffee in the name of balance and energetic openness. (Yesterday I stayed in the house all day after working and ate random leftovers and had a headache and worried.)

If I were in my cubicle, I'd be watching the clock right now, waiting for my next 15-minute break, to stretch and walk and get some ice water from the 2nd or 7th floor. Knowing I had two days ahead of me before the weekend, before fresh air and physical space and breath and companionship and being able to see the weather outside. I never found dreading Mondays or hump day Wednesdays or TGIFs fun or funny. I think they're quite depressing. And I hope, I hope, to avoid them in future.

I know I might be picking up other work very soon. I have been here before and I must be open. And I am trying to trust the process, trust myself to know what to take and what to leave, and when to take it and when to leave it. I would love for any secondary work to be part time, flexible, work-from-home type work. Something I actually enjoy, something that engages my organizational and admin self. I do really enjoy making things run smoothly. Perhaps some way I can be of help to someone else running a small business? Each of us finding our way, being what and who we are, trying to balance the (real) need for a respectable income with the (real) need for self-actualization and -respect and -care.

Yes.

So what am I, Neil? I'm a Priestess. Also: Healer. Space, Time, and Breath-giver. Witness. Journeyer. And, oddly, Organizer. Spreadsheet Goddess. Sharer. Seeker.

May my paid work - and yours - reflect what we are. And may we hold sacred the space and time, the fear and excitement, the confusion and clarity. May we trust the process and be gentle with ourselves. Find others on the path, and support each other where we can. 

Yes.

So: What are you?

The Day the Saucers Came - Neil Gaiman 4/29/14