Shame.

The first few Saturdays of the month I send stories from my life about breaking rules, transcending the ordinary and finding magic.

Whether you're an executive, emerging leader, seasoned entrepreneur or budding business owner, I'm grateful you're here and hope my story supports you in some way.

... continued from last Saturday.

I'm thinking, "This is my fucking job."

Not only am I practically perfect for it, but I found it through morning meditation and journaling. I mean c'mon!

I wait a few weeks.

Nothing.

I wait a few more and decide to follow up with a second letter of interest saying everything I wish I'd said in the first.

Nothing.

An actor friend told me how when she doesn't get gigs she really wants, it's okay because she lived the life where she did in her mind while waiting to hear. After too much time has passed, I have to let go. It's really disappointing, but I move on from my imaginary life.

I apply for more jobs I'm not excited about, because my need for money is real as my handful of clients are wrapping soon. My weary heart is convinced the only thing that'll save me is a job, even as visions of a Big Deal Job are slipping away.

I get an email about a position at a company I have connections to. People I know and love work there. The job I could do with my eyes closed.

I apply and get it.

With a grateful but anxious heart, I start the job. I meet the people. I go to the meetings. I do the things you do when you start a new job. And the entire time I'm having deep-down, shameful thoughts — I don't want anyone to know I have this job.

Every moment, my stomach is on a rollercoaster. I'm sick about everything. I don't want this job but need this job. I'm grateful for this job, but hate myself for hating this job.

A week in, I'm in a meeting on the verge of tears — I leave my body and see myself sitting there, "What am I doing?"

I log off and burst into tears. Heaving, covered in tears, and gasping for breath a flash of familiarity comes over me — the feeling from my old shitty job that gave me panic attacks.

This job isn't shitty but the feelings are.

I can't do this.

No, I don't want to do this.

My little nephew said after telling him I got a job, "But Tía, you already have a job." His words guided me through the difficult coming days.

My goodness, I already have a job.

A job I like. A job that's taken care of me for years.

Every job sucks to some degree, so why not do the one I created as the antidote to the suckiness?

My actual job — guiding people through change; helping leaders find meaningful connections to their choices, lives and work; supporting organizational and business growth — this stuff I LOVE.

The sucky stuff, I realize I can do it in my business for the job I love or I can do it somewhere else for a job I don't.

With complete clarity, I quit.

To be continued...

Consider this...

• Can you relate to any of my story?
• Does any of it make you uncomfortable? Why?
• Are you inspired by any of it? What? Why?
• Are you struggling with something that needs a difficult decision?
  • What's your ideal outcome?
  • What do you hope happens?
  • What's likely to happen?
  • To support your hopes:
    • Who do you need to talk to?
    • What do you need to research?
    • Where do you need to focus?
  • What will you do if things don't go as planned?
  • What are your priorities?
    • How have they changed? Since when?

More next Saturday.

Love you,
Annie

🍉

p.s. I can't stop listening to Poor Righteous Teachers, they're as relevant as they were in '96. I extra love this track.

p.p.s. I'm working on two art school projects — a landscape drawing in ink and a watercolor focused on light and color. Exciting! This was my first big project.