A Moment from Long-Unemployment
From My Boston Life
A dear friend of mine once moved alone to Seattle. While resettling, he was often mistaken as a homeless man. I remember him later retelling me of when a cafe owner forced him to leave. My friend went back in and thanked him for the experience of being outcasted.
In the spirit of my friend Paul, I open this moment from my Boston life. I kiss the wound of the burn mark and thank it for the memory here:
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At some point in the early fall of 2019, the first few moments in my Boston life, I took a walk. I went to the Cambridge Commons, a park that is commemorated as the place where George Washington took control of the rebel army and brought the fight to the British.
I was shattered then. There is no other way to say it.
I was unemployed from January 31, 2019 in Orange, CA until January 7, 2020 in Boston, MA. (If you knew me in that time, my heart is still yours for your kindness and support and love.)
Looking to this new place around me, I said under my breath: “I have nothing to offer you.”
The exhaustion of job searching in this day and age is entirely demeaning. It is infuriating and strips you of dignity unto tears.
Meaninglessness is something frighteningly close and much more so than we want to believe. Perhaps the worst part is that it’s nobody’s fault. It’s a mere rough of the shoulders, a shrug that says, “nothing personal; it’s just business” right to your face in a moment of total fear (will I afford food? A place to live?).
I often practice reshaping my perspective by summoning a line from a poem: “is this all of myself?” Long-unemployment is a constant, heinous whisper reminding you that your perspective matters much, much less than you thought.
More soon,
Trevor