Today, I was having lunch with a very dear friend, whose advice and wisdom I’ve come to value over the years. Much of the time, I listen and take his guidance and at other times, not so much. Not because, I don’t believe in the advice, it’s generally because I’m not ready to heed it or I flat out disagree. Yet, the most exasperating part is he winds up being 99.8% accurate. It’s a bitter pill. Also, I learned many years ago never, ever to make a bet with this man. He always wins. Always. Irritating galore.
We were discussing the fact that I up and quit my job the day before. No notice, only a short, professional letter of resignation and I was out the door. I literally didn’t let it hit me in the ass. It was an easy decision for me. The moment I stepped off the elevator, I drew my first calm breath in six months. My work place was a hostile and toxic environment. Everyone, including me, wanted the hell out. The exception was the partner’s secretary who constantly wore a medicated smile. A “Stepford Secretary.”
Over Pad Thai, we discussed my career decision. Although, he understood, he was of the opinion that I should have “sucked it up” and stayed put. His rationale being I’m a paralegal and that I should get use to the fact that is all I’ll ever be. These harsh words stung. What? Really? I have a Masters Degree. Therefore, all I’ll ever do for the balance of my working life is three hole punch documents and put them in binders for attorneys? I fought the tears welling up. I’d rather have my teeth drilled before I let one fall. My fur went up. Vehemently, I disagreed and proceeded to remind him I want to continue writing my book. “Then why haven’t you been writing all this time? What’s stopped you?” These unsugar-coated words hit me between the eyes like a stone. Even though I had several reasonable answers ready, there was no getting around the awful truth; the answer was me. As I said, it rankles me that once again, he’s right. I really hate that and he knows it.
Driving home, with my bruised ego and musing over the conversation, the famous line from Dirty Dancing floated across my mind, “Nobody puts baby in the corner.” Damn straight. I won’t be put in the corner, the pigeonhole, the niche, the straightjacket, the box or any other kind of restraining device. The gauntlet was thrown down. Write, I will. I am so much more than a paralegal zombie. Achieve, I will. Stop talking like Yoda. I deliberately chose not to remain in a stifling, soul sucking, brain-decaying job. My mind is set. Ergo, I sit before my laptop pounding out these words, which are flowing out quite nicely.
Forthwith, I AM continuing to work on the book and write this blog. Thanks for the swift kick. You just saved me a $275.00 therapy session.