I almost failed* Dry January...but I didn't
When hard rules meet hard truths in a hard economy (and what is buoying me at this time)
It’s a rare moment where I’m struggling to find something funny to say or write. But the truth of the matter is, there is nothing comical about a struggling economy and it’s uncertain future. Open any news publication or social media app and you’re sure to see the word “LAYOFFS” plastered at every turn of the head. Daunting and scary. And seemingly—few professions are spared. Even hospitals show up on the state lists in 2024. Hospitals. I am no economist nor will I ever come close, but as a working woman in America, I can say with utmost certainly that I am a thread away from writing a simple letter to Congress: “What the fuck is going on" (and I’ll tape in a dollar bill for good measure.)
With that, my own employer cracked the inequitable whip and slashed another swath of people, good people, for the fourth time in four years. I should add, publicly; as much as I never want to hear the all-too-common term “Reduction in Force” i.e. RIF ever again, I’d like to also formally propose “silent layoffs” to be eradicated from everyone’s vernacular effective immediately. My role was spared; gratitude is not lost on me. But this time, it doesn’t make me feel better. I’ll skip the specifics. A long tale of a short story in saying I’ve never felt so drained and purposeless. A job cut for a creative is like losing a part of yourself, because so much of who you are is wrapped up in what you do to make a living. The boundary is nearly invisible. Even though it wasn’t me this time, the threat of such is enough to drown you in the proverbial wet blanket.
And then: a margarita presents itself. A perfectly spicy one, half salt rim. One I’ve touched to my lips many a time. Paired with a friend who is also having a career crisis…who happens to be doing Dry January alongside me in solidarity. Temptations were high; we huddled ourselves in the parking lot, braving the cold toward Temazcal (save your opinions today I’m fragile) where the only words on a loop were “I really want that fucking marg.” Yet, once through the doors, sat at an unassuming high top, it happened: we ordered mocktails. This was half due in part that I could practically feel my Days Since ticking away in my pocket. The other half being the server telling us essentially any cocktail could become, well, mock. Case closed.
But I want to touch on something poignant: just because you deem it “failure” doesn’t mean it is. I have a knack to be brutally hard on myself with my mind keeping score. So what if I had that margarita? I wouldn’t be failing. I’d be breaking a rule that I set for myself—and as the saying goes, they’re made to be broken. Life can be so difficult—if you’re seeking joy in something as innocuous as one margarita, perhaps allowing yourself to stay up one more hour for one more episode, or the Oreos that sneak into the cart at the final mile, these are not failures. Quite the opposite: they’re comforts. With that, I hope you can find more comforts to buoy you through your hard days. Today, I found comfort in an empanada that made my stomach hurt, and getting my eyebrows plucked out one by one. Different strokes!!!!
Speaking of buoying, here’s what is keeping me afloat:
Over the holidays, I checked off the box of sending my Montana film to be processed and scanned. As if the universe smiled upon me, I found the gallery awaiting eagerly in my inbox at 5:39pm. Turns out, this was the only email that found me well today. Expect a turnaround time, but trust that Indie Film Lab will deliver.
I’m also exponentially edging toward “complete purchase” on this Akari UF3-Q lamp (the price point tells me dupe) but I have an egregious amount of lighting with no home…in my home. Doesn’t add up. That said, maybe I can have it as a treat.
Jacob Elordi on Saturday Night Live. I don’t have to explain why this buoys. My heart rate is increasing and I’m writing this laying down. Unfortunately for me, sleep is fast-approaching, and this watch must wait for tomorrow’s new dawn. I hear he’s single. I’m not. But please, I am once again asking for a little treat.
Last: I’m kept afloat by this platform. A humble amount of you humans read my work and interact and offer your thoughts, and that means so much to me. Having this third place between home and work—the intersection of the two—is reigniting something in me that I didn’t know had burnt out. Frankly I don’t care if you think this is SoMe DuMb bLoG; if you don’t understand it, then it’s not for you, and not everything is for everyone. Point blank period. Move on if that’s the case. However, the support of friends, family, and strangers is not lost on me, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to write things that you read.
And so it goes. I’ll soon be back to my chaotic links looking like Charlie as I string together two very distant concepts in an effort to marry them under the same umbrella. For today, I’m just relishing in knowing failure is just a word in the dictionary.
Until next time.