Three and a half years ago, I acquired a "temporary" job when the nepo baby at Jose's company quit in a huff. For one reason after another, including a fucking global pandemic, I kept staying put. After a while, I both tried to quit and kinda tried to get fired, and it never quite stuck. Then a sort of friend of ours "parted ways" with his job, and since Jose is now the president, he thought that it would be a good opportunity to give Brandon a job so he could continue to pay his rent and finally allow me to quit for real and go back home to write.
The thing is....
I am not young any more. I used to be optimistic and mentally and emotionally flexible, and the idea of change was always exciting and I could meet it with enthusiasm. Not any more. I am terrified of uncertainty and change now.
Jose is, in all honesty, clinically depressed and hates his job. He's been there for over ten years, and while it pays very well, there is no joy, no intellectual challenge, and no satisfaction. The company keeps lurching along, from small contract to small contract, always threatening to go under, and he is fed up with caring more about its continuation than the actual owners, who are in a childish, spiteful battle amongst themselves. The future of the company will be determined in the next couple of months, and Jose will either be out of a job or will need to decide whether he wants to continue on with a job he hates. As ever, I cannot tell someone else how much he is suffering and how much more he should have to suffer, so I support whatever choice he makes.
But I'm scared.
I'm scared because, no matter what, Maggie needs health insurance. I'm scared because we have two (adult) children who need to finish college, and I just surrendered the additional income that was not necessary, but was making life pretty cushy. I'm scared that they are both studying art, and the conventional wisdom is that they will not be able to find jobs to support themselves. And even if they successfully launch into adulthood and no longer need us, that also terrifies me. They will move away, or we will, and I will not see them anymore. And I have an awful, sinking feeling at the thought that when Jose and I downsize our house, I will no longer have rooms for my children to come home to. It breaks my heart.
I did not expect that I would end up having so much trouble letting go of things. My job, my house, my children.
In addition to the ugly decay of my body, I also hate what is happening to my personality as I age. I was promised that I would come into myself in my forties. I would feel more sure of myself and who I am and what I want. That could not be farther from the truth. I am wrong about who I thought I was, I don't know what I want, and I have no self-confidence that I could figure out how to get it if I did.
This sucks.
