The first day of work was good to me. It's really the little things. I mean, not many places I've worked at have ordered me lunch on my first day. I didn't expect to get sent a menu to any restaurant, let alone order my favorite: a cheeseburger club with onion rings. I actually remember making a little over minimum wage as an intern, then spending my meager money on fast food lunches almost every day.
It's not often a first day goes so well. Even if things went according to plan, flagging for energy after lunch threatened to throw a wrench. How do you guys fight that midday lethargy while listening to a lot of people speak during your orientation? I'll come up with something.
A lot's changed since then. Now employed by an "insurtech" company, the next few months offer learning code and sitting in a cold office. But my ambition's all fired up.
I don't need 500 words to explain how unemployment is a bitch. I watched the days go by during the holiday season, unable to buy my lover something to wrap and leave under the tree. My mother, in her concerned, parental address, told me she was worried "I wouldn't be able to provide." I found a funny feeling listening to her, but not 'haha' funny. I was not laughing.
I can only imagine how those in the media industry feel. My first day after a quarter of joblessness feels especially reassuring in contrast to their wave of layoffs.
The Los Angeles Times, experienced its largest layoff in history, cutting 20% of its staff. I don't think statistics retain enough humanity. 115 reporters lost their livelihoods. TIME's editorial union also stomached cuts. Sports Illustrated let people go over issues with licensing. The list goes on with National Geographic, Forbes, The New York Daily but doesn't even stop there.
In the wildest story I've read yet, the folks at Pitchfork, the music journalism site, listened to the notice of their layoffs from someone who couldn't even look them in the eyes.
Anna Wintour literally did not remove her sunglasses, despite sitting indoors, as she told several people they would not have a means anymore. Frankly, facts funnier (not 'haha' funny) than fiction could write a novel a helluva lot better than I could. Still, I endeavor.
I endeavor as I squeeze in 500 word blog posts each day. I endeavor as I plot novel writing in pieces, like a puzzle. When I get up hours before I have to clock in, and I walk through freezing temperatures to pump iron and trot in place, I endeavor still.
My problem might be that, those people endeavored too. Yet, these games of fate and chance, the tabletop of the gods, do not favor us all with good fortune. Cruelty might wear dark shades as she tells you pack up your desk. But I don't mind.
Having it, not having it; it's all the same to me. It's like I read in a manga once. Not everyone who works succeeds. But those all those who succeed, work hard. Full-time employment or not, my journalistic process carries on. Not for money, not for acknowledgement, but because nothing could put out my fire, save for telling everyone why I am still burning.