On being "let go"

I don't entirely understand why the phrases "laid off" and "let go" ever came into existence. Except for helping the speaker refine their employment status, it really seems no better than being fired. Granted, I have never been fired. But the facts all seem to line up. Whether fired or laid off or let go the individual is still left jobless, must once again labor and toil in hunting for a new job, and is overall left with a sense of uselessness.

Today, for the first time, I was "let go." Although I was told that it is at no fault of my own, it's still rather depressing. Everything about my post-college career has been depressing. Searching for a job, endlessly, for hours upon hours each day, was awful. People, in their genuine concern, constantly inquired about my current employment situation. "Still nothing," I replied over and over. But finally! something came along. And something that I thought I'd be good at. And even though there were some negative aspects of the job, I regularly reminded myself, all jobs have pros and cons. I highly doubt anyone has ever worked a job wherein they were 100% satisfied with everything. We are humans - it isn't in our nature to want to work.

But here I am. Sitting at home, back to square one. Although I am disappointed, to some extent there is a sense of liberation I'm sure any "fired/laid off/let go" individual feels. I have told myself, this is an opportunity to do those things I could never find the time to do when I was occupied with work. And, you have been needing to examine some changes in your life and this is the time to do it, Corinne! But, I can get to that tomorrow. Today I just need to sit here and be mopey. Before I pick up being forward-minded I need to sit and tend of my feelings of failure.

I am a poser adult

In almost every sense of the term I am an "adult." A young adult, this is true. But I have most certainly completed the passage from childhood and the societally-coined "adolescence" into the great phase of adulthood. I have completed college. I am married. I pay bills (well, indirectly. Yet another handy feature of a husband!). I have a pretty-much full-time job. I go to the dentist by myself. I make sure the thermostat stays at an efficient 78 degree during warm days because I am constantly aware of the utilities costs. And I keep a day planner of events occurring 6 months in advance. My deepest, sincerest sixteen-year-old desire to be a big-time adult has crept upon me and become a big-time reality.

And while I fully embrace my becoming a contributing, autonomous citizen of society, I am honest to admit I secretly cling to my childhood. A few weekends ago, while visiting my parents, I took a trip down the hall and into my room to see what items my mother might have left on my bed to take home as yet another subtle hit to start "tearing down camp" (I can only imagine her suppressed excitement to have an empty room to do with as she pleases). Although I usually attempt to conceal my sentiments when visiting my parents as I understand the importance of letting go and moving on, I found myself particularly drawn to memories of my life in that room, that home. And, guiltily, the thought passed through my head, "I don't wanna grow up yet. Rewind! I want to have all other guests go home (yes, including my own husband) and I want to curl up in my own bed with all the safe and familiar surroundings to fall asleep to."

Fleeting as those thoughts were, I couldn't shake the notion that I sometimes wish I were a younger Corinne, eating pizza with my family on Friday nights and worrying about which outfit I was going to wear the next day. Granted, I continue to live a very, very blessed and relatively care-free life. I am so undeservedly showered with abundance: a husband who continues to exceed my expectations, a comfortable and well-furnished apartment, a very enjoyable job, a student loan that has been already completely paid off... all the luxuries an adult could ask for. But there is still a part of me which misses my life with that family in our home as eight- and twelve- and seventeen-year-old Corinne.

So, while I function in the role of "adult" I'm still growing into my new skin. It's a bittersweet transition. But perhaps I don't really ever want to let go of that love and adoration for my childhood...

Alma Mater

I often wonder how to revive a stagnant blog, or whether to revive it at all. Perhaps this stems from my reluctance to fall under some cliche. Like obscure bloggers who apologize to "all" their readers for some leave of absence. Whatever the case, jumping back into blogging is like trying to resurrect Pogs. Perhaps I will once again find the pleasure in those magical cardboard circles. Or maybe I'll remember why I drifted away in the first place.

This has quite possibly been the first time in my life that I did not more distinctly realize the transition from Summer into Fall. I might blame this confusing weather for that. But the true culprit I believe is my absence from school. For the past 16 years I have spent each Fall resuming my life as a student. And although each Fall begins with the fresh excitement that a new school year brings, each Spring brings the longing to be done with school for the Summer. For ever. Summer begins and you tell yourself you'll never put yourself through the torture of another semester.

But I graduated, and now it's Fall, and I most certainly miss school. Last May, as the buzz of graduation grew louder and I anticipated my new life to come I thought I could never again miss the dread of 8 a.m. classes or the headache of mounds of homework or that ever-pressing list of thing to do... that never gets any shorter! And yet, as I scroll through my Facebook news feed and catch up on all the latest whereabouts and adventures of current students, it's almost depressing. I miss the friendships. I miss the feeling of checking something off the never-ending to-do list. I miss the late night runs to In-N-Out or Boba. I miss the studious feeling of a backpack on my shoulder. I miss meals in the cafeteria. And most of all, I miss my roommates. I terribly miss the TV shows we watched together and the plans we made together and the tears we shared together... and even Rachel's stupid, stupid phone alarms (which I heroically endured for 2 years).

I miss all of this more than I ever imagined. Jordan said he went through this the first semester or two after he graduated. And at least I'm fortunate to still be in the same state as all my college friends! He has assured me though that it will get easier as time goes on. I hope he's right. Or he might be funding a few more years of college tuition.