A few months back, I was head-hunted about a job at a foundation. Right before my trip to England, I went to the interviews, took the copy-editing test, and did my best. In the end, when the job was offered (while I was on vacation), I turned it down. Although the stability and organization of the work environment appealed to me, the job was essentially project-managing the creation of literature for the foundation and there was no writing involved. As a step, it wasn’t up. It was sideways.
Two days after turning down the job and returning to my then-current job, my boss and I sat down for the conversation that led to my departure. It was scary but ultimately exhilirating, and I had a sneaking suspicion it was the right thing to do.
But in those scary moments, I couldn’t believe – couldn’t believe – that I had just turned down a job. My best friend, Erin, had this Bichon Frise, Niki. Niki was, like lots of Bichons, a big weenie. Every now and then, she’d run out the front door, euphoric at her triumphant escape from the house. Ten minutes later, she’d be at the back door, howling raggedly to be LET BACK IN WHERE IT’S SAFE.
I was Niki. I wanted to call the job that wasn’t right for me and beg them to take me in, bring me in from the cold scary place where the signs are telling me to fucking make my own way, already, and do what I want to do.
This new job shouldn’t need to confirm to me that I did the right thing, I’m doing the right thing. I should know that already and if you pressed me, I do. I know that each week it gets easier to sit down and write and that’s a good thing. Each week my late-night freak-outs where I cry on Stuart get less frequent, and that’s good, too. So I already knew I was on the right path.
But I wasn’t expecting the right job, especially when I wasn’t pounding pavement like a maniac looking for it yet. I was sending out a couple resumes a week, to only the jobs I wouldn’t turn down, and this was one of them. Teaching, in an afterschool literacy program, for exactly the amount of time I was hoping to dedicate to something challenging and worthwhile. And then something challenging and worthwhile came along. And I start in September – the Powers That Be even granting me a few more weeks of intensive writing before I shift my schedule. It’s difficult for me to believe, but it’s what I need, exactly when I need it, just when I was worried I was asking too much.
For all my pragmatism (WHAT, it’s IN there SOMEWHERE) there’s a part of me that still firmly believes that if your goal is worthy, if you have a dream that you deserve and have earned, then what you need will come to you when you need it. The universe will conspire to help you, as Paulo Coehlo would put it. It’s soppy as far as convictions go but I’m glad to keep hold of it for one more round at least.
And I’m glad I didn’t run to the back door, howling for safety.

Do you know what’s really nice?
You guys. I mean, you’re niiiiiiiiiiiiiiice.
Isn’t that a nice thing to hear on Friday? Well, it’s true. You’re all very nice. I wrote a very difficult, complicated and terrifying post about leaving my stable 9-to-5 job for a life of writing and worthwhile part-time work.
And do you know what you guys did? Go back and read it. You left me all these really wonderful, supportive comments about how you had every faith in me and that I’d find the right balance.
And you know, my parents, Stuart, my darling friends – they know me, and support every thing I do with enthusiasm and reality checks and glasses of wine toasted to new beginnings. I know them, and I can pay back to them my gratitude with my love and friendship every day, and I do. But I wanted to thank you, because you guys only know me from this medium, and yet you poured out your encouragement and ideas.
So, thank you. I have a lot to say about the new job but right now, there’s a coffee and some writing in front of me.
Enjoy the cookie.

Tonight we went on a long walk to dinner. We were headed for a Brazilian place on 36th Ave that we hadn’t tried yet. On the way we talked about books, specifically, what Stuart finished reading today – Scott Westerfeld’s Uglies. Then, we passed this sign. Right as we were talking about The Smoke. This is hilarious to you if you’ve read the books and nigh-incomprehensible if you haven’t. I’ve weighed the pros and cons of sharing it with you regardless and decided to take that chance.
We laughed a lot and on the way back from dinner, I took a picture. It is quite possibly the dullest photograph I’ve ever taken but there you have it. I like to start off with small things, nothing too exciting or earth-shaking, just a funny literary joke.
The adorable dog brigade of Astoria was out in full force tonight. Every wide-eyed tail-wagging pup that could possibly tug on my puppy ovaries was out there doing its bit for the powerful Dog PR Machine. Also out in full force was the Old People Charm Me brigade, since on our way back to the apartment – laden with popcorn and soda for our movie night – the Italian-American Community of Queens was serenading the neighborhood in Athens Plaza with a snappy litle waltz, and boy, did the snappy OAPs come out to dance.
It was like watching one of those music box figurines, the way the whole crowd slowly but precisely waltzed around each other, not a dame or gent under 60 on that plaza. I must have looked crazy, grinning my face off at the shuffling dancers. Stuart could not be enticed to take me for a whirl but promises it was only a momentary lapse; at many other times in our life, he assures me, he will be able to lead onto a plaza and pretend we know how to waltz. Heck, maybe we’ll even learn to waltz.
This next anecdote serves the purpose of making you feel better, you New Yorkers, who don’t always take advantage of every single bitty free thing the city has to offer. On Monday night, I got to Bryant Park 45 minutes after the lawn opened for seating for their showing of Charade, and this is what faced me. By the time Stuart arrived at 7:45, I was getting sick of hearing the power-drunk security guard yell at people to STAY OUT OF EMERGENCY LANE as they bodily blocked people and thrust the sign in their faces. But I’d worked so hard to get us a halfway decent spot and Stuart had brought Chipotle!
So we sat down and ate. And then stared around. And then the conversation basically went:
“So, I just spent two hours here.”
“Want to go home?”
“Totally.”
So we did. We went home and played Book Lovers Trivial Pursuit and drank our Cabernet out of real wine glasses and not plastic cups, sitting in comfy chairs, and if we are old, then so be it, but I for one am willing to stand up and declare that Monday nights at my otherwise adored Bryant Park? Not worth it, peeps.

And this last picture, well, this was us tonight. As if Stuart’s stellar professional review on Monday wasn’t good news enough for the Brigouras household, today I got offered a job that I want, a part-time job that starts in September and is basically perfect for me – the right mixture of challenging and engaging and worthwhile, clocking in at 17 hours a week and netting me slightly above the minimum I decided I needed to earn from part-time work to contribute fairly to our household. Oh, yes, there was a good reason for dinner and a movie tonight, kids.
Details, as they say, to follow.

I woke up today full of leftover ennui from Wednesday. I don’t know why. I wrote for three days this week, solid chunks of two to five hours writing. That’s what I said I was going to do, wasn’t it? I said I was going to enjoy these few months of paid vacation to write like hell and place my faith in the future, right?
On Wednesday, I wanted to take it all back. Nevermind that I’d just done what I said I was going to do. I felt like I hated it, hated every minute of slow and tedious creation and self-reliance. Thursday gave me a break with a slew of errands that couldn’t wait any longer and Biscuit’s lasik surgery to get him home from, plus dinner with friends in Chinatown. Thursday was a respite with things to do, to accomplish, outside the house.
Today, the crushing ennui and self-doubt, she is back for a special Friday appearance. I woke up with a house that needs some tending – nothing serious, dishes to do and clothes to put away. I had a light breakfast and stared at the new picture frames we ordered and realized they’re all wrong, too many 2×3 openings and we don’t have enough small pictures and talk about transferring emotions, but suddenly the effort to get those three picture frames filled and hung was like everything in my life – too complicated, too self-reliant, too creative.
I wasn’t planning on filling and hanging the goddamned picture-frames today anyway. It was just the act of evaluating them that made me want to crawl into bed and sleep for another twelve hours. It’s when I want to go bed right after I’ve woken up that I know I’m in trouble. Sleep is my ostrich-in-the-sand tactic.
Why do I want to do this to myself? Why did I agree with myself a few weeks (months?) ago on this crazy scheme? Why don’t I just drop all this bullshit and go study to become a librarian so I can always have a job, sweet merciful employment complete with someone else telling me what to do? WHY?
Can I just give up and say nevermind, I don’t want to be a writer, UNCLE. Can I fold? No, see, I can’t fold. Because I’ve got all this pride that keeps me from folding, which is probably a good thing but I hate it right now, and I hate that I know what I have to do, which is be productive through the maelstorm of ennui and negativity and self-doubt. I have to keep saying to myself (and other concerned parties) that yes, I’m unemployed, and no, that’s not the end of the world, and yes, I’m writing every day instead of working for someone else.
It’d help a little if I believed that was the best thing to do. It’d help if I didn’t feel like I was letting everyone and myself down by switching gears this abruptly. It’d help if squeezing words out every day felt more satisfying than this, if they really erased the questions and the ostrich impulse.
I guess it’d help if I knew where this was taking me.
addendum: because I love all of you and don’t want anyone to worry needlessly (especially those of you related to me), I figured I’d let you know I’m dragging this laptop and this brain to the Rose Reading Room and seeing if all the marble and intellect can calm my worried mind enough for those good rare words to slip out onto the page. Also, it gets me away from this apartment that I adore too much to pace around with this foul humor. All Big Questions will just have to wait.

This is how I rewarded myself on this cool, gray afternoon for two hours spent writing. It may not sound like a lot but I didn’t check my email once and I only got up a few times, to refresh a water glass or answer the phone [I only answer when I can just tell by telepathy that it's my parents calling].
So, the writing. It is going slowly, and well. I think it’s like running – every day, your endurance for the quietness and concentration gets better. So last week had a lot of interruptions but a good solid six to eight hours over the course of the week. This week has started out better, and I’m proud of that. Because this is scary, you guys. Two months or so where my only obligation is to keep up my freelancing gigs and write, write, write? After this, I’ll have to find part-time work and I accept and rejoice in that, but once I’ve made the decision to take this break as a godsend and write, well, damnit, that means I have to write like I’ve never written before and pray that the learning I’m doing will only benefit me along the way.
So today, I wrote and then gave myself a cup of tea and three cookies as a reward. I was also going to meet friends in Brooklyn for a Manu Chao concert but the skies, they are threatening and heavy with rain.
Which means I should move my caboose and get to the grocery store – why ruin the quiet satisfaction of a day well spent by ordering takeout? No, no – it’s tacos [recipe being swiped from Deb] and guacamole for us. Now if I just had confidence that I could pick out avocados to save my life. Oh, well, one life lesson at a time.
Today’s life lesson: tea is better with cookies.