In June of 2023 I quit my job as a news producer after two years. I had a “mini retirement“ or whatever name it has now before it was trendy. I didn’t quietly quiet. I literally quit. I’ve written poems, won awards for poems, worked on my novel, abandoned my novel, come back to my novel, solo traveled, slept in, got into block printing, planted a garden, gone to concerts, tried to untangle the knot of anxiety inside of me, helped take care of my grandparents, done yoga, read books, watched movies. Now I need a job again. I want to do something I’m proud of. I want to keep this life I’ve cultivated outside of the traditional career. I’m terrified I will never be hired, that I’ve tarnished after these two years of living. Somehow doing the very things we’re on earth to do — create, try, experience — has hindered me. This fear is only being validated with every rejection letter in my inbox. It seems that I’m asking for too much. I don’t care that I’m young. The scope I’m looking through may be narrow but it’s all that I have.
