How I quit My 9 to 5
How i quit my 9 to 5
This Can’t Be It.
“Yep… You got a toner developer housing issue, we will have to replace it.”
There I was standing under a flickering fluorescent light at work staring into the gaping chasm of the printer technician’s ass crack as he bent over to fix our printer.
“Is this really what I'm doing right now?” I asked myself as he shifted his weight to stand up.
It was like I was having an out of work opposed to out of body experience.
It didn't seem real to me, when just yesterday I took half a day off so I could go teach spoken word to teens at an after school art academy. It had only been 18 hours ago when I was erupting with inspiration as my students ferociously wrote their poems; eager to express themselves.
And it had only been 12 hours ago when I was rocking my own socks off on stage spitting to a huge audience for a poetry feature I got contacted to do, racking in 345 dollars for a 25 minute poetry set. I could still feel every soul getting shook in the crowd, but all I could see was the sweat dripping down the Xerox employees temple as he grunted from his bad back.
It was clear to me in that moment I was living two different lives and only one of them was real.
This wasn't it.
Can I see that a shade lighter? Now what about darker? Can I see it in Papyrus font?
Don't get me wrong,
I am very grateful for my many years in the graphic design industry.
It's paid my bills, kept me secure and steady. I've learned a lot that I can apply to promoting myself and other people, but the passion for designing left around the 500th client asking if their watermark should be 8% or 12% transparency.
Dude nobody cares.
And it was clear I didn't anymore either.
Something had to change.
You Mean I Gotta Love Myself For Real For Real?
I was 33 at the time and my Mother had just passed 3 months ago.
Like most people who lose a loved one, it makes you realize how valuable our time on this beautiful chaotic whirlwind of an earth is.
What I didn't expect is that my Mother’s death would force me to love myself as she did.
“Would she want this for me?”
“Do I want this for me?”
It hurt too much to keep going this way.
Long nights for poetry shows, trying to squeeze in as much work for my own nonprofit on 12 minute lunch breaks and dealing with the panic of having to ask off to get paid doing what I love.
With a tractor in my stomach of nerves, I clicked the send button on my resignation email, locked up and walked out on a Friday.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
At first, all I felt was relief. Then halfway home on my 45 minute commute I noticed my hands wouldn't stop shaking.
“Am I crazy?! Did I just quit the highest paying job I've ever had without a clue on what I'm going to do?”
The tractor in my stomach was in full farming effect. I felt like I was gonna throw up every meal I had ever ate.
I knew I could get paid here and there with my poetry and art, but it was far from a steady income.
“God what am I going to do?”
Was I going to end up one of those poets walking around the crowd begging the audience to buy my CD so I could keep the lights on?
All the confidence I had on stage and in myself to start this venture had suddenly disappeared.
Funnel cakes and growing pains
Funny thing is, I was getting contacted by organizations all the time to come perform, paint or teach. However I still found myself that night sitting in my boyfriend's car outside the county fair holding onto my stomach like I was about to reenact a scene from Alien.
“You sure you up for going to the fair?” my boyfriend asked, concerned that my face was white as a freshly opened Google doc.
“Yeah. I mean make a scary life change, go on a scary ride right?”
I spent the next hour taking photos of spinning lights and carnival rides, uploading them to my Facebook with posts like:
“Maybe I could join the Carnies. This is my life now. These are now my people.”
But just like how I knew the corporate life wasn't the real reality for me as I stared into the butt of the print tech…
I realized my reality would be so much better than a life of greasy fair food and greasy mechanic hands.
All it took was the swings…
Oh God I'm Going To Die, Wait No I'm Not.
If you've ever been to the fair, the swings are a carnival ride staple.
You sit down in a metal swing with only a thin chrome bar between you and the air as it lifts you up, up, up and spins you around so high you could probably see your house if it weren't for the speed.
At the time, I was a bit of a catastrophe artist.
Meaning in times of stress the worst possible thing that could happen in the moment would barge into the forefront of my brain like an unwanted relative checking to see if you've cleaned your house.
I loved the swings.
I loved the fair.
I always go on the swings. Always.
So why in the hell on the first turn, I was convinced that the chain was going to break and spin me into the parking lot with limbs flying was beyond me.
But I freaked… the...hell...out.
“Oh God, I'm going to die. Oh God. Wait wait wait I don't want to die. I don't want to die!”
And then it hit me. The most important question I forgot to ask myself.
Why?
Why don't I want to die?
If everything is so bleak and I've somehow made a huge mistake by actually taking responsibility for my life and what's best for me, if I am really doomed to be broke and homeless then why do I so desperately want to live?
Because I haven't been living yet.
I mean, not fully.
Most people think life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die, but for me it was all the possibilities I had yet to fully try and do.
Suddenly I wasn't dying anymore,
I was flying.
And for the first time since I was a kid, I opened my arms up and yelled “Woooooooo!” as I flew around each curve of the spin in the air.
Life isn't going to suck.
It's going to be Awesome.
I'm awesome. This fair is awesome. That Carnie down below looking up at me yelling, like I'm some dysfunctional weirdo is awesome. I'm finally going to do the damn thing.
I'm finally going to fly.
Knuckle down.
I knew I had to get serious. I knew that I had to truly want this for myself and to not give up the belief that I could make it.
I spent the next year racking up money on a credit card to pay for what I needed like a reliable web domain (I highly suggest squarespace) spending countless conferences with my amazingly talented entrepreneur Sister about business, taking online summits sometimes till 3 or 4 in the morning, reading as much as I could on tips and resources, not to mention self help books that take you through all your dirty low down past trauma to how to raise your frequency and go get what you came for. I signed up for Uber to pay bills when I was in between teaching, selling art and shows. Uber also gave me another opportunity for a poetry book, filled with poems about those who’ve rode with me. I started to get my subscriber list together and began building a client base for my writing coach business.
More organizations started contacting me and I started building my tribe of equally kickass movers and shakers as well as my brand.
The first month that I pulled in more income than I had made at my previous dead weight job I was ecstatic.
I'm flapping my wings and finding the right currents for me to soar.
I'm flying y'all, and so can you.
So if you find yourself staring at the back of Tom’s head at the desk in front of you, wondering if he uses Head & Shoulders, while you're bored out of your mind, or if you can't wait for lunch so you can day dream about doing what lifts your heart up in the air…
Get your ass in the real seat and start swinging.
YOU NEED TOOLS?
One of my goals for this year is to help everyone around me shine.
I want to help you get your shit together and get out there illuminating every space you step into.
I get really turned on in my light bulb of a heart when I get to share resources, time management and energy management skills with others.
If you haven’t already, there’s a steady stream of voltage that pumps through my email list once a month to light your life up. I highly suggest you get on board so you can get to shinnin’ already.