What to do when you’re unemployed in a foreign city: Part 1

Living in a foreign city, with no real routine, is an interesting situation. Many people come here to start school or a job. I've been there: you arrive, find an apartment, and then it's ready, set, go. The benefit to that is you've got an immediate social group and purpose. The drawback is that you could get so immersed in it that you lack time to explore your new surroundings.  

Personally, I've never lived in a big city or a foreign country, nor had I planned to. I just came to Toronto to be with my husband, understanding that during my visa waiting period, I wouldn't be working. I knew what it was like to move a long distance, since I'd done it before in 2002 (to California) and again in 2005 (to Idaho). I knew I wouldn't have to worry about the language, and I had a sense of the city from my previous visits here. But that was the extent of it. So now I'm just here.

Actually, I'm going to be very honest - this is my dream come true. I've always loved having a blank canvas of time with which to create my days. Although I could, and did thrive on structure as a full-time clinical counselor, there’s something magical about sitting around deciding what to do each day, and then doing it.

I had this blessing two other times in my life – First, I was a college student in Arcata, California. Due to the tight economy in the tiny redwood-coastal town, I got laid off from my job within a couple of months and was unable to find another. I applied for, and received a Pell Grant and was thus able to spend my free time doing yoga, playing guitar, and walking in the woods with friends, which I thoroughly enjoyed. Later in 2009, I was approaching my final semester of grad school, and had gotten a summer job which I had to quit because of the boss’s unbearable moods. Uninspired by the idea of another minimum-wage job, I chose instead to live off of student loans. That summer was the most depressing time I’ve ever had. I couldn’t get motivated to do anything.

I still don’t fully understand why those experiences of unemployment were so different. However, I think at least two factors come in – 1, my need for companionship, and 2, the belief that we are what we do. I think perhaps by the time I reached grad school, I had begun to equate self-worth with being productive.

This all changed once I began a full-time job. At first I felt like huge reserves of energy and efficiency were being released in me. I could achieve so much more than I had previously believed. My self-esteem skyrocketed. Then, naturally, I started to equate my efficiency with who I was – my self-worth, so to speak. Instantly I became miserable, and stayed that way for about a year. Then, in the summer of 2012, I took up a daily yoga practice. Yoga put me in touch with the delight of being again, and I gradually became happier (and more productive) at work. I was able to wind down much more quickly, enjoy my personal life more, and find moments of beauty within the workday. I realized life wasn’t as serious as I thought.

Yet, like so many American workers, we were experiencing budget cuts and more work was being placed on individual employees. I realized that from the get-go I had a workload bigger than I could handle. I realized part of my discontent had to do with a restless mind, which could be cured by yoga, but the rest was just inherent to the job.

The whole experience was a profound awakening for me. Working with battered women and all the crises that ensued, I was constantly drained and this took away from my relationships with my friends and family. It made me realize that nothing is more important in life than family (both biological and “chosen”). When I finally resigned, I felt incredibly blessed to have such a supportive family and the time and energy to be with them. I felt like my priorities would never be the same.

From that viewpoint, I was in a great position to begin married life – a life in which, for now, I'm a “homemaker”. But Sean, being the kind of guy he is, of course doesn’t see me that way. He just sees me as the woman he loves, who happens to cook him dinner most nights. I think secretly he wants me to become a rock star or something. Just write songs all day, then go out there and get discovered. It’s funny how, when you find yourself with a blank canvas, people want to tell you what to paint. It’s like you’re on “The Price is Right” and everyone’s telling you which door to open. “Number One! Number Two!” They just can’t help themselves. I’ve gotten suggestions to open a coffeeshop, to “get all those high-paying city (music) gigs”, and to busk on street corners. I guess part of me is stomping my foot saying, “I’ll pick the damn door I wanna pick, y'all!" The other part just laughs because it’s so obvious that the path will present itself to me. I’m busy in a dialogue with myself about my wants and needs employment-wise. But I am in no way ready to whip out my brush and slap a vision on my blank canvas. Not yet. And this patience, this pause, feels like the perfect place to be.