The draft has been open on my desktop for 11 days. I haven’t been in your inbox in over a year; the last time we saw each other, I was using Mailchimp. I was a newlywed. I was working from home by choice.
But I’ve thought about you, and this, not every day but definitely every week. And how ashamed I was about how much time had passed, and by the reason I wasn’t writing, which was because I was too embarrassed. Had I not read this essay by Sean Blanda, I might never have written to you again, but I did and it made sense and it gave me a reason to write again. I’ve been dealing with career anxieties lately, like figuring out what I want to do and wondering if the answer to that question even matters. Then I read this:
“When it comes to my career, what is ‘enough?’ Should I get off the career train and focus elsewhere? Is my lack of interest my boss’s fault? Is caring less about my work like giving up on life?… Do I need more? Do I go for it?
…There is no ideal choice, but there is a “wrong” choice: not choosing at all. The destructive thing to do is to limp along, zombie-like, banging your head against an invisible career ceiling, never fully committing.”
At my last job, success was measured year over year; at my current job, it’s month over month. There’s something poignant here about different ways to measure progress, longevity, dedication. I’m not sure what it is.
Right now, it’s hard to think beyond day over day, week over week. June 2020 has no relation to May, January, or June 2019. I don’t know what to write about what’s happening, so I’ll lean on what I know: Black Lives Matter, defund the police, abolish the prison system, focus on restorative justice. Pacifism isn’t always the answer. Violent oppression will be met with violent resistance.
There’s so much to mourn now: lost loved ones, faith in a failed system, a city transformed. Take the time. Process, write. Reach out to an old friend; it’s never too late.