Tag Archives: excitement

I Quit

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I’ve been talking about it for months, weeks, days and now I finally did it — I quit my job as an Administrative Coordinator and manager of Accounts Payable for a construction company. Cue applause, gasps of shock, and mutters about how I’ll be unemployed and am probably just a naive 20-something.

I quit without having a backup job. It’s not like I wasn’t trying to find one, but I couldn’t. It’s exhausting to work all day then try to search and apply for something new. By the time dinner is done, it’s close to 8 or 9 and at that point I just wanted to rest. And that’s on a day when I don’t have something planned after work. Maybe this should be a red flag that I should’ve stayed with safety and security, there were too many reasons that I needed to leave even without a job to go straight into.

There was this one manager at my job, the accounting manager whose assistant I was originally hired to be, who made my life hell for basically the entire time I worked there. This guy was in his mid-30s and definitely going through some sort of internal crises because he had it out for a friendly short girl ten years younger than him. About three months into my job, he thought I “stabbed in him in the back” because I told my boss I came to work late because I didn’t want to wait outside on the sidewalk to be let inside. My coworkers all consistently came late and no one trusted me enough to give me a key, so when they ran late I had to sit on the sidewalk at 8am. Or I had to sit with the mechanics next door who harassed and annoyed me. I realize it got him in trouble, but it didn’t even occur to me at the time to lie to my boss. What I did pissed this guy off so much that he held a grudge against me for the next year and a half.

After that point, he constantly berated me. One time he told me I looked like I was gaining weight, another time he told me I looked like I didn’t brush my hair. Often he yelled at me because I made simple mistakes for things I was never taught. He made me cry countless times. Still I stayed.

I stayed because I told my parents and family and they told me to be grateful I had a job. They told me that I was fortunate because not many people my age were able to move out and get a job right away. They were right; I don’t begrudge my parents anything. Their generation is used to working its ass off in any field just to make money while my generation wants to do what we love without an emphasis on status or material possession. Different times, different values.

And that was another thing that broke my heart — I wasn’t doing anything I cared about anymore. It’s not surprising that many liberal arts majors graduate and become administrative assistants because although we’re passionate about a specific subject, there’s not a lucrative work force for sociology, anthropology or English majors. It was so disheartening to see all the cover letters flow in after I gave my two weeks notice from other liberal arts students with well-crafted cover letters that spoke of a passion for administrative tasks. I felt differently though. I loved to write, I loved to edit. I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was 12 years old and a copy editor since I first geeked out over grammar studying for the SAT.

The final straw came for me when my grandfather was unexpectedly killed in a car accident. I got the call at 10pm on a Monday night and went home without giving it another thought. I told my boss I would be out for the rest of the week due to a family emergency. Upon my return, I received a card signed by my coworkers and was told I had to use my vacation time for my week off. The vacation time I wasn’t allowed to have for an entire year prior to this and that I was saving for various weekend trips throughout the year. In the end, everything worked out in my best interest, but I was angry and felt disrespected. So I planned when to use the rest of my vacation days and told myself I’d be out by no later than September.

I’ve since met incredible people who inspire me everyday to do what I’m passionate about, regardless of how much effort, commitment, and hard work it will undoubtedly be. I feel so clearheaded and optimistic about my decision. I’m going to find work that I love with people that I love to be around. The only coworker I liked at my old job told me that she didn’t invite a single one of our other coworkers to her wedding and to me that is outrageous — I don’t want to be in denial that the people I spend most of my time with aren’t a huge part of my life.

I’m ready and feeling good about what my future holds for me and I only see myself going up. I have a great support system behind me and I’m genuinely excited to see what comes next. Goodbye construction industry. I thought you’d have more funny, ridiculous stories for me to share, but instead you taught me how to value myself again.

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Moving and How it has Slowly Destroyed My Soul

moving-dayI’m moving tomorrow! Hooray! Moving is special and unique because it happens infrequently and it signifies an important yet necessary change in life. Unless you’re me, apparently. I guess I should write that I’m a semi-professional mover on my resume because in the two years that I’ve lived in Brooklyn, this is going to technically be my fifth time moving.

The first time was the most necessary. It was the essential move from my parent’s home on Long Island to live with some friends in Brooklyn. It was perfect and stressful and horrible. My parents love me. A lot. And of course they’re two of the most important people in my life, coupled with my goofy younger brothers. But their love is strong, like an iron shackle hanging onto their only daughter/oldest child. I only moved from Long Island — less distance than when I was in college — maybe an hour from my hometown. The day I moved, my mom cried hysterically then adopted a kitten a week later and named her after me. My dad started a fight with me to hide his vulnerabilities in the car ride over. It was both adorable and a reminder of why I so desperately needed to leave.

The second move was necessary, but not as crucial. It was more a move to save my rapidly depleting happiness. The new apartment was fun and enjoyable at the best times and tense and depressing at the worst. I became the head cleaning lady (another line for the resume) until I couldn’t take it anymore and decided that I needed out. Conveniently I had a friend moving into town who was looking for a roomie. What could go wrong, right? Apparently everything.

I committed to moving out and someone was found to take my room. In the meantime, I moved my stuff over to my new apartment a week before the lease would start. We still didn’t have a third roommate, but I wasn’t too worried (read: I was freaking out). We were moving into a place that a friend of a friend lived at — I was under the impression that she had spoken to her landlord and he agreed to this change. When I tried to talk to him about the apartment, it was apparently news to him and he flipped out on me and told me I wasn’t going to be living there. They rejected us because my friend’s crappy Americorps job on Long Island (which she quit a month later) didn’t pay enough. This news came two days before the “lease” was due to start. My friend was disappointed but felt that it was for the best anyway, and I had to move back in with my parents for a month. *Cue the dramatic ‘dun dun dun’ music.*

So my third move was the move back to Long Island. My parents gave my old bedroom to my little brother, so when I stayed with them I slept on the basement couch. Staying with my ex meant that I could sleep in an actual bed, so I basically lived at his parent’s place for that month. There was a lot of stress and little sleep with commuting back and forth from Long Island to Brooklyn for work. Me and my ex fought a lot, and I think it’s safe to say that this move ruined my relationship in a way that was irreparable but that we ignored for a few more months. I made the decision to live by myself, but after some consideration proposed the idea of living together with my ex. “Hey, we kinda hate each other right now. Wanna make it so we can’t escape each other for awhile?” Good going, Nicole. The way I saw it was that I would be living in this place and paying for rent, utilities, and food by myself and he would be there almost all of the time anyway not paying for shit. It didn’t seem fair, and he agreed, so we came to the decision to move in together.

Then the fourth move was in with my ex boyfriend, who is my ex boyfriend for a reason. It worked for a few months and I was excitedfunny-pictures-new-york-cats-hate-their-apartments about it, but I always had this feeling like I had forced him into this because I kinda had. He reassured me time and again, and then one day we got in an argument over some insubstantial thing. He decided the relationship wasn’t worth it, that I had forced him to move there, and in two weeks time he was moved out completely and hasn’t spoken to me since.

I stayed in the apartment mostly because I didn’t really have much of a choice and also because I was sick of moving, if you can believe that. I was less upset about the ending of the relationship than I expected, which was eye-opening in a very depressing way, but the place still dripped with memories of my ex boyfriend. I wasn’t exactly planning to re-sign the lease.

Now I’m at my fifth, and hopefully final for at least awhile, move. I’m moving in with a close friend who I used to work with, and I’m pretty excited about it. In my past moving situations, I had doubts and apprehensions that I suppressed until they were proven true. I’m done ignoring my inner voice and intuitions, though — this time they’re cheering me on and I feel fully confident with my decision.

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