what if i never find another job?

on the irrational fears living rent free in my brain

this past saturday marked a month.

as it turns out, little italy is quite quiet at 10:30am on a wednesday

a month of being unemployed—or funemployed, depending on how you look at it. my last day at my job was february 16th. i had two weeks of pure, unemployed vacation in sunny mexico, followed by two, holy shit, does it always rain this much in march? unemployed months in new york. four whole weeks of waking up in the mornings, and having nowhere to be. it is an odd feeling for someone like me, someone who thrives on a schedule, on a task, on feeling productive, and—if i’m being really, truly honest with myself—feeling needed. people keep asking me, with all the best intentions, how i’m doing. they don’t finish the sentence, but what they really mean is, how are you doing being unemployed? how long can you go on like this?

i quit my job

and i get it, i do. first of all, they’re asking out of care. they want to make sure i’m holding up okay. but the truth is that i don’t really know how to answer that question, because how i’m feeling varies so much from day to day. i feel like i’m riding my own personal rollercoaster. some mornings, i wake up and i think, i’ve totally got this. wherever i land next will be wonderful. the universe will take care of me. others, i wake up, and all i feel is dread.

because what if i never find another job?