For once, it’s not me struggling. It’s my brother.
My brother is working on a career switch at the ripe age of 22. To be fair, where he works now isn’t cool at all. He needs to get out. I just can’t stand seeing him so sad.
I remember when I was getting ready to leave my first reporter job. I was so lost. I felt like life wasn’t worth it anymore; I was counting down to a last day that was going to be way less graceful than I wanted it to be. When I sat in HR’s office and cried, telling her about how much I absolutely cannot stand that place, it felt cathartic. I knew I didn’t belong there. Two months felt like 10 years. I’ve been at my current job for almost a year and a half and it feels like yesterday.
I’m lucky and it’s taken me this long, facing this type of family crisis, for me to really realize that. Despite my mental illness and ongoing difficulties, I’ve managed to keep a full-time job and also have a boss who gets my brain and allows me room to breathe. Not all jobs are like this — I dare you to find another office that’s as weird as us. Two years ago, keeping a job like this was unheard of. But, I’ve persevered and worked so hard to establish a norm for myself. Sure, I have a weird routine and on-the-dot times for everything, but I’m alive and at work, where I need to be.
It hit me this morning how crazy lucky I am, as well as how far I’ve come. It’s insane to think about. Holy cannoli. If tomorrow is half as productive as today, bring it on.