All of the sudden, I have found myself with a sun kissed body full of Dairy Queen and (let’s just say) three glasses of red wine. I am watching Bob Ross’ kind of creepy, yet kind of soothing voice on PBS… A lot. You know, the dude with the ‘fro who paints the same painting every, single time. Unemployment has suddenly become funemployment. As much as I love it — RIP, Mr. Ross — it’s time to get down to business. I am in desperate need of a Jane Fonda unemployment workout and a legitimate bun rebirth.
In addition to retooling my resume, utilizing contacts, and generally just pimping myself out, it is painfully clear once again that one of the greatest parts of unemployment is also the worst: Thinking.
Yes, thinking about how you can manage to send in that rent check at the beginning of the month, realizing that you can only realistically and stereotypically afford ramen, wondering how you can actually be a functioning adult, financially and otherwise. At the same time, there is a nicer side to the thinking coin.
During my first bout of unemployment, I faced a dilemma that should have been a no brainer — to give up or keep my gym membership. I rarely went to the gym as it was, so what was the point of paying Crunch for stripper pole lessons that I would most likely never take advantage of? The choice seemed obvious. Everything in me should have yelled, “Use those bills for something else. Plus, people should pay you for stripping, not the other way around.” The sum of me shouted something else.
Instead of giving it all up, I took advantage of my two free training sessions that were offered when I signed up to begin with. I was honest with my trainer — “I’m looking for work. I want to know how to get x, y, and z by myself. In the future I will use you and pay you. Honest.”
Know this, Crunch trainer, I still stand by my words.
Within three months, I got into the best shape I have ever been in. I did my best to avoid the excess sugar, Trans fats (it’s easy in San Francisco when there’s not even a Wendy’s), saturated fats, and everything else “enriched” with nothing. I began to exercise so that I would sweat for at least 30 minutes to an hour. I lifted weights, working my larger muscles and moving to my smaller ones. Hey, it’s not like I had anything better to do. My saving grace was also setting a specific amount of time at the Bay for relaxing.
Cheesy? Definitely. There’s no arguing that. But it also worked.
I began to feel healthier, I noticed that I looked better (NAKED), and people noticed a change in my annoyed, unemployed attitude. My negative thoughts became more optimistic, and I was open to hearing other people’s thoughts, in addition to sharing my own. More importantly, I got the confidence to get the job. There was a clear change in my interviews before and after I started working out.
Sure, the job I had is now over. Sure, I’m back to drinking the extra glass of wine and eating that extra scoop of evil known as ice cream.
I’m on vacation right now, but I’m also aware it’s a vacation in disguise. It’s a deceiving illusion. I’m surrounded by multiple framed renditions of “The Footprints in the Sand” like any other normal, Southern vacation. I am being confronted with unhealthy foods, spare drops of alcohol, and a warm towel ready for me to sleep on at the beach. My parents are paying for gifts, in addition to wining and dining me. All of these things I can do without. My eye is on the prize — independence.
In my “normal” life, when I am getting a steady paycheck, I find that I already eat enough and drink enough. Vacation, it would seem, should be a time to take a break. Vacation should be a time to buckle down, while working on my mental, emotional, and spiritual health… Except on this vacation, I am trying to achieve that health by constantly being hooked up to the interwebs, hoping people will hire me.
