Microwave Popcorn is Evil

I wrote these things as I was readying myself to leave a secure, decent paying job with benefits. I was not doing well in that situation either and needed to make a change. At the time, my wife and I were ready for a new adventure. For me it was then or probably never. The fence becomes invisible eventually, and that's where I was headed. 

March 1, 2006

Microwave popcorn represents the smell of cubicle culture. I will never eat it again. The fragrance is artificial, chemicalized, the perfect symbol of a working life disjointed from nature, joy and freedom. The smell of confinement, frustration and the dehumanizing infantilizing effects of too much job security. It is the smell of quiet, polite misery, of death marching forward while life is pushed aside. A factory-pressed trick of the nose, not eliciting the cornfield or the butter churn, but an imposter with a crooked acrylic mustache coming detached on one side.

I’m in my last hour of employment. Joyful, giddy, tired and flat as at a memorial service. Tired with no physical cause. I would not want to work somewhere a long time and leave. It’s actually very hard, even though I’ve been anxious to go. I signed my termination form yesterday. Not that comfortable with the choice of words. My ass wants to be kicked rather than coddled in this polyester chair. I say that now from the ass-coddling comfort of the chair. We’ll see.

It’s a fool proof scheme, and I’ll be the fool to prove it. The audacity of taking on something that is soul-felt, but otherwise unknown. It makes magic come up close enough to touch and smell. For this, I’m someone I would admire.

How that's changed, depending on when I ask myself. Overall, I'm glad I took a huge leap. Sometimes, I'm thoroughly convinced it was very much the wrong thing.

February 4, 2006.

5:36 in yellow green numbers, hanging in darkness. Not looking connected to anything. Kind of how I feel. I have no job on the island. We have no house on the island. We have no way of getting our stuff to the island. We have no money to pay for moving to the island. In the green number-hanging darkness, I’m certain we’re going to the island.
Messy life change and adventure when you’re not ready. When you’re in a phase of life that seems to be all about making sure your kids are safe and stable and fed.
Change for its own sake after all the justifications. After all the talk, it’s because I Want It. I tell myself risk is good, change is good, growth is good. We talk for hours about the benefits and challenges, the means, the obstacles. Fear comes arm-in-arm with excitement. Lots of important emotional and spiritual points get made. The kids will always remember it. We’ll never regret it. Actually, it’s really because I Want It.

***
“Job Security” means disempowerment, infantilization, donuts, too much screen time. Sitting. Hunching. Cowering. Dissipation. Pettiness raised to Martha Stewart-esque attention to detail. Pharmaceutical companies must absolutely love state government employees. Diet companies. Junk food producers. Magazine publishers. Our break room table featured three consecutive monthly editions of a women’s magazine. All three cover stories were about weight loss. Crumbs in the pages and a grease spot on the back.

And so it began on early 2006. Getting unstuck from a stagnating situation, out of one frying pan and into an eventually scorching hot fire. From too much safety and boredom to financial kamikazi-ism and one of the most dangerous, financially unpredictable jobs in the U.S.. From death by sitting to 24 x 7 financial and physical peril. 

Now what?