The New World Order
In October 2016 I finally gave notice that I was leaving my corporate job. And by February 16 I was out the door. Today I'm lying on my bed in Hollywood, California, preparing to hunker down for what might be months and months of couch-surfing, homeless living, and an attempt to retake and re-engage in my life.
There's a lot that's happened in between then and now, but I will just say for the moment that I am reclaiming my voice. I find myself writing everyday and it's been a long time since I've been in that warm place that I call home.
I had months of planning behind me and was determined to take it slow and steady. I spent the first month resting, sleeping in, cleaning house, and organizing my life. By March 15 I was on a plane to New Orleans, and on April 10 I had temporarily moved to an apartment right into the beating heart of LA, 6 months to the day of giving my notice.
There was a small goodbye party, and an even smaller welcome party (albeit one that gave us more joy than it should have), and now I am here. As I head into my third month I've finally gotten my wheels on and have taken some steps toward networking, reaching out, proposing for some work, and generally finding fun things to do and new people to explore with.
This is my last month in the apartment - which I can no longer afford. On June 30 I will move in with my auntie and spent my lost hot summer looking for work and hopefully making a few beach excursions. And WRITING, which in my pressure-filled job search I have been unable to completely invest myself in.
I console myself with the fact that I've made at least 6 excursions to Disneyland in my short time (relax folks, I have an annual pass), seen a few old friends, and have taken the time to network with my people slowly and methodically, looking less like a desperate hooker and more like a creative spirit with goals. People ask me every day if I regret my choice, or regret moving. And I get to check in with myself and ask myself this question. The answer is always NO. Not a second goes by that I regret leaving my house, my job, my friends (who had in many cases moved in with new lives/spouses/children) so that I can own my own life. The journey has been powerful, amazing, lonely, difficult, and totally fucking beautiful. And I'm just starting.
So many adventures and stories behind me but... Can I write it all down? Of course. Should I? Maybe. Will I? Probably not. And I realize at this very moment that I'm not a diarist. I'm the sort of person that lives in the present, and looks very far toward the future. So already I'm getting bored with myself here.
The New World Order is here and I'm taking it.
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| The lovely Linda Cassidy on her bike in New Orleans. We became friends through Michael Zivick, my inspiration for this blog. |
I had months of planning behind me and was determined to take it slow and steady. I spent the first month resting, sleeping in, cleaning house, and organizing my life. By March 15 I was on a plane to New Orleans, and on April 10 I had temporarily moved to an apartment right into the beating heart of LA, 6 months to the day of giving my notice.
There was a small goodbye party, and an even smaller welcome party (albeit one that gave us more joy than it should have), and now I am here. As I head into my third month I've finally gotten my wheels on and have taken some steps toward networking, reaching out, proposing for some work, and generally finding fun things to do and new people to explore with.
This is my last month in the apartment - which I can no longer afford. On June 30 I will move in with my auntie and spent my lost hot summer looking for work and hopefully making a few beach excursions. And WRITING, which in my pressure-filled job search I have been unable to completely invest myself in.
I console myself with the fact that I've made at least 6 excursions to Disneyland in my short time (relax folks, I have an annual pass), seen a few old friends, and have taken the time to network with my people slowly and methodically, looking less like a desperate hooker and more like a creative spirit with goals. People ask me every day if I regret my choice, or regret moving. And I get to check in with myself and ask myself this question. The answer is always NO. Not a second goes by that I regret leaving my house, my job, my friends (who had in many cases moved in with new lives/spouses/children) so that I can own my own life. The journey has been powerful, amazing, lonely, difficult, and totally fucking beautiful. And I'm just starting.
So many adventures and stories behind me but... Can I write it all down? Of course. Should I? Maybe. Will I? Probably not. And I realize at this very moment that I'm not a diarist. I'm the sort of person that lives in the present, and looks very far toward the future. So already I'm getting bored with myself here.
The New World Order is here and I'm taking it.
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