Doors

I lost my job on November 14, 2016. It was my first post-college job, where I was a copywriter at Belk headquarters. Eight hours a day were spent constructing captions for online products. Things like, “Infuse your wardrobe with Mediterranean flair. Inspired by lush sunsets and craggy seas, this free-flowing dress is perfect for a warm night out. Pair it with chunky wedges for a finish that’s casually bold.” While it was an excellent first job and I was grateful to have it, the monotony was often maddening. There was always one more peasant top, one more pair of brightly-beaded earrings. They snaked through the black box of my computer, waiting to be branded and sent. But the people I worked with were some of my favorites, and we had a sunny office. It paid the bills and I liked it.

And then, I was walking from my apartment to my car on the night of November 14, headed to a meeting hosted by Charlotte Uprising, where I would learn new ways to promote justice in my city. I had curiosity and a notebook. As I reached the parking garage, a woman from the talent agency I worked with called and said, “Today was your last day at Belk.”

That was how I found out. I received negative two hours of warning. My first word was “what,” followed by a highly professional “are you serious.” I pictured my apartment, spaciously looming six stories above my head. I could barely afford it with a decent-paying job. I pictured my friends at work, how we wrote notes using dry erase markers on the glass panels separating our desks. I pictured all those captions, piles and piles of boots and polos and colorful pants, scattered anonymously throughout Belk’s website. I wasn’t even allowed to go clean my desk.

That’s how some layoffs work, apparently. I called my boss, who greeted the news with
shock and frustration and pity. It came from the higher ups, she said. They were making cuts like crazy. She didn’t understand why it was me.

I didn’t go to the Charlotte Uprising meeting, which I now regret. I instantly started planning between tears. My savings account was buoyant enough to keep me okay for a little. I barely spent money, but could cut a few more expenses. I registered to be an Uber driver and made a list of restaurants and breweries to visit the next day.

There are three reasons why being laid off like this was infuriating, but not that bad.

1. I don’t have kids.
2. While I certainly wasn’t going to ask for their help, my parents’ financial security tugs behind me like a life raft wherever I go. Though they have a rigid “once you’re out, you’re out” policy, they weren’t going to let me be homeless.
3. I was leaving Charlotte anyway.

I hadn’t told many people about #3, but the plan had been in the works for a few weeks. My Belk contract was set for June 20-December 20. I only had five weeks left on it, though the talent agency told me when I was hired that every contractor they had ever sent to Belk received either an extension or a full-time job. That was before Belk was bought and their management changed, but as people feared the changes a new CEO brings, I just
pictured mountains of un-captioned clothes. “They won’t lay off copywriters,” I thought. “They need us.”

I had planned to give proper notice to my boss once I had concrete plans to move. Now, my only concrete plan was that I was going to wake up the next day and not go to work. It strengthened my resolve to go to Atlanta. People I loved were in Charlotte, but logistically, I had nothing left. I would move during early January at the latest.

No restaurant would hire me for just a month. I didn’t blame them. I spent weeks driving for Uber and eating too much. I gained weight and my pores turned to little bulbs of anxiety. I loved my roommate, and wasn’t going to leave her with an entire two bedroom to pay for, but it was hard to find a person my age who would jump for my spot. It was a low, bewildering point.

Then, a woman I went to high school with expressed some interest in the apartment. She swung by and loved it, and we worked out a deal. I visited Robby in Atlanta, where we fell in love with and somehow landed the first place we looked at. I got a job across the street the day after we moved. Being laid off was like falling from a tree to a trampoline. Now that I think about it, that’s how my life tends to go.

Financially, it’s still scary. My parents’ life raft is smaller and considerably further back now, and my job waiting tables doesn’t have me rolling in cash. The move put a dent in my savings, but I don’t regret it. I’m with the person I love, and while we each retain independence, we can finagle the financials together.

An entire line of doors flung open, and each day I think about why. I try to negotiate some blend of God and luck and brushing myself off quickly, but I’m not sure what fits where. I’m a little suspicious. Perhaps my worst habit is my tendency to peer at a good situation, squint my eyes, and ask, “What’s the catch?” I’m eating cereal in an apartment I love with a man that I adore. I have a healthy body, some form of income, and buckets of hope. And yet I’m waiting for something to shatter.

In some ways, I’m most at peace when I’m fighting something, whether it’s unemployment or a family crisis or physical pain. I wrongly believe that there’s a science behind how much joy and pain a life can hold; if a few elements are hard, then that’s your quota for bad things. Nothing else will go wrong while you’re dealing with these. If nothing is wrong, whip up some challenge out of thin air so that you have control over what becomes tough. Unbridled gratitude is something I’ll have to build.