Three days after my unemployment compensation ended, I received two job offers. It has been a long journey from stumbling around in the murky depths of the self-esteem sewer to climbing out onto the sunny "hot damn I'm good" side of the street.
After leaving a job I held for close to ten years, I placed all my chips onto black, spun the wheel, and started a new position I thought would be a great career choice. I was wrong. The job lasted three months and jump-started my journey of self-discovery or at the time, self-doubt. It was a shaky beginning to say the least.
I questioned my ability as a worker, mother, wife, and writer. I thought I would never be able to hold another job again. My brain slipped into woeful mode and created a scenario supporting the employer's decision to let me go. He was right. I was a failure and was destined to live the rest of my life in my sweats, the uniform of the unemployed.
The self-flagellation lasted four months or longer. I can't remember the exact day the gray shroud of clouds drifted away. I also can't remember the one thought or tangential progression that nudged me back into the positive-thought zone, but I know it involved blogging.
So I set up a virtual journal and began doing what I loved best, writing. I wrote about losing my job, looking for a job, and hunting for dandelions. First, the words spewed out as dark and dreary but soon morphed into satire. It was a miracle. I could once again see the irony in life. I could look myself in the mirror and see a shine in my eyes rather than a hair in my nostrils. I saw the hair in other people's nostrils. Maybe I wasn't doomed to a life spent swaddled in sweats. Maybe the employer was wrong. In fact, later I found this to be true. The employer, it seemed, had a propensity for casting employees adrift in a dingy in the middle of the Bering Sea. The gal who preceded me was also let go, as was the one who followed me. I felt vindicated. I could breathe.