This post is the third in a new series called “Frustrations,” an unplugged retelling of some of the difficult circumstances I’ve endured in the past year or so.
It took me a long time to regain control and find myself where I am now – a crossroads between wallowing in the memories of what used to be and perpetually trying to clear the fog and see what lies ahead.
The warehouse job eventually ran its course, but on the way there, am endless stream of tears kept me from seeing the valuable skills I was learning. I picked up accounting and sales skills and experience that many of my peers now envy (or so I think). I made a lasting impression – albeit lackluster by my own standards – on a group of people that still call on me to this day when they need help running the business.
Where was I? Crying over her? Asking myself why that damn job didn’t work out? Reeling in the memories of days where the hardest task was figuring out what her and I were going to eat for dinner? You betcha!
For the month of June 2016, I worked as a writing coach/dorm assistant for a high school journalism workshop at the University of Miami that I was a student in several years prior. I needn’t tell you that the experience, albeit a wonderful departure from my relentless wallowing, was still colored by my missing her and was actually bookended seeing her again on the night of her birthday. All those feelings came back, and in a way, I was right back where we started again.
During that time, though, an old friend of mine visited my life in a very interesting way. Her four-year, long-distance romantic relationship was hurriedly coming to a close, and she increasingly sought in me a release from that weighty burden of asking herself whether she was doing the right thing in leaving. We eased the pain by channeling our inner 18-year-olds and making out on the stairwell of the university dormitories, getting drunk at a Downtown bar and feeling again what we hadn’t felt in a while.
After all that excitement, though, it was back to the warehouse for me. I got a call which heralded an ultimately lackluster offer working as an administrative assistant for an operationally challenged security agency offering equally lackluster security services to truckyards and condominiums across South Florida.
A couple of fallouts with the boss lady later, I ejected my seat from there mid-flight and landed smack-dab in the middle of the office park less than a mile from my house, where I am still working as the manager for a print shop that’s usually doing better than worse.
It would seem like everything is all right… but it’s not. It’s not all right because there are components of my “park-era” life that I miss.
I miss the laughs. I miss the silly and raucous conversations I would have with the staff and with the customers. I miss writing for the newspaper at Miami Dade College and having the time of my life with the staff and one very special budding photographer. I miss walking into the Honors College lounge and getting the feel that I was really in a professional academic institution instead of some doo-hickey community college.
I miss it all, and I’m still trying to figure out how to get it back.
The story ends next week! Stay tuned.