Once, I had an awful boss. She could smell fear over the phone. I had been warned. Co-workers who knew my situation, a daughter recently lost and hair that was still growing in from my “monk wannabe” post cancer bald spot look, had taken me aside and groomed me on how to proceed in this newly promoted position of mine. “Tell her nothing,” they said. “If she knows anything about your personal life, she’ll use it against you.” So, I did horrible things like missing my stepson’s birthday party because said boss wanted me to fly out a day early with a few minutes notice. I worked on the early anniversaries of the date my daughter passed away, because, who knows? I suppose I hate confrontation so much that I would rather swallow my tears than tell another person I am weak. I dreamed of quitting this job of mine. I auditioned in front of my boss in order to pass a curriculum test and be granted the task of presenting modules during workshops. I passed with flying colors but was ordered to study and re-take the exam because I’d improved so much in such a short time span that, surely, it was a fluke. This happened 3 times. I was berated in front of my co-workers for things like a 3.5 inch heel instead of a 3 inch heel. I was also chastised for wearing flats. The pinstripe on my suit was too wide, in her opinion. My nude lips were distracting to her. My red lips were distracting to her. My earring studs were too big one day, too small the next. Yet, I shook when I turned in my notice. I cried. She asked me to stay on and I actually said yes, until I realized what I’d done. It had been the job of my dreams until it became a nightmare. Yet, it took years for me to quit. I had needed that job so desperately. If my husband’s situation hadn’t warranted me the opportunity to take a step back, I’d likely still be there now. And, today, we have entered into a period known as “The Great Resignation.” I think I know why.
Kiddos cost money, like, a tremendous amount of money. My nest has been empty for years, but I remember the basic breakdown. They need money for sports: the special pants and the cleats and the bats and the gloves. They need money for dance competitions and costumes and school uniforms and lunches. They need money for school supplies and the textbooks they lose and the dances they want to attend. They need hundreds of dollars for formal wear and highlights in their hair and polish on their nails. God forbid if you have a boy and need to insure him as a driver. They need cars and gas and food, oh, the food they need. It adds up quickly. So, we work. We pay for the fast food we pick up on our way home from the 2-hour commute. We pay for the diorama crafts bought at Walmart at 11 pm (and due the next day) because we’re too tired to find the craft box in the top of the closet. We pay for the car that takes us to and from work. We pay for the Netflix and the Hulu and the HBO and the cable television. We pay for the internet and the laptops and the tablets. Lord knows we pay for the telephones and the telephone plans. Stick ‘em up, Peter. Paul is standing behind me and he needs my money. It is a vicious cycle. There has to be a better way, we think, as we walk into our homes at night and start the mental countdown. If I go to sleep in 2 hours and 15 minutes, I can get 5 hours sleep before I have to get up at 4 am and start this madness all over again. We are disorganized. We are exhausted. We are grumpy. We are done. But, that’s life, right? Everybody does it. We just keep going.
But, last year, everything stopped. The plates we’d been spinning for our entire adult lives suddenly stopped and crashed onto the kitchen floors of our lives. It was terrifying. For the first time, many of us had to stop and consider basic human necessity vs “normality.” It was the embodiment of a 1st world problem meme. We realized that we really could have issues with food and shelter, and it wasn’t going to take long to get there. So, gone were the fastfood visits. With no commute, there was little gas to purchase. Some of us downgraded to a cheaper class of vehicle. Some of us eliminated television subscriptions. Others of us re-appraised those telephone plans. We moved in with family or we sold expensive homes or we just simplified in the name of safety. And, now, as they tell us to return to the soul extracting stomach turning grind, we’re wondering if there isn’t something better out there. The past 2 years has given us a master class in simplifying. We can do more with less. Also, it’s not the end of the world. Sooner or later, people will return to work. Facebook feeds will consist of more than just rants about how long the drive through lines are because of the worker shortage. We will return to a life of excess and frivolity and living above our means. But, maybe, just maybe, the kids will remember that time they were introduced to the digital television antenna and the momma made hamburger on white bread. And, maybe they’ll remember that money can’t buy you love.
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