What Losing My Job Taught Me About Taking Flight
Dangling twenty-five feet above a circus net, chalk dust on my sweaty palms, I realized this wasn't the biggest leap into the unknown I'd taken that month.
Blindsided
I should have known when the mysterious calendar invite from my boss popped up. I used to be part of the elite team that prepared these communications. And it wasn't until they moved me to the sixth floor, or Siberia, as it was known amongst the employees, that my time on the chopping block had finally come.
I had been preoccupied with deadlines and personal stuff in the days leading up to the layoffs. It never occurred to me that there was a reason for the delay in deliverables or scarcity in response as I cleared out my childhood home and packed to move into my first home.
The Last Day
On that last day in the office, no one acknowledged my presence, not even Griffith, the security guard at the front desk. I cleared my desk the night before, returning only for a money tree (the irony). And when I took the elevator to the ninth floor to hand in my laptop and mobile to IT, they seemed genuinely surprised to see me.
At the front desk, I slid the security fob and work ID across the counter, and they told me I could keep the badge. I remember thinking it was an odd parting gift after nearly a decade of service.
Outside the building, Lulu is waving sparkly pom poms and loudly chanting, "Whee, you're free" repeatedly.
I can always count on Lulu to add levity. We met while taking a burlesque performance workshop culminating in a trip to the Montreal Burlesque Festival and performing solo in NYC.
Lulu had become a good friend over the years, filled with mindful advice on living life to the fullest. And as she neared the end of an 18-month tenure of fun-employment, having been laid off herself, Lulu seemed ready to pass the baton.
With a nod and a side hug, Lulu whispers, "Just remember, this is not the scariest thing you'll do in your life," as she leads me to the subway.
I know Lulu is right. I've been through far worse: my parents' deaths, family estrangement, romantic and friendship breakups, and breakdowns, but I can't shake the feeling as to why this feels so much heavier than the rest.
Little did I know Lulu had something specific in mind to prove her point.
Learning to Fly
My head is spinning when we get to our stop in Long Island City, robotically walking past warehouses and salt quarries, a parking lot filled with city buses. Lulu leads us through double doors and down a hallway until we enter a circus tent. She pushes the door open and nudges me forward.
The space is ample and filled with tumbler mats and balance beams, and in front of me is a dynamic flying trapeze setup with swinging bars.
I turn to Lulu, and she's grinning. "Remember what I said, you can do this."
I remember the instructor asking how I felt about flying. I blink to hold back the tears. When I was little, I had always dreamt of flying. I tell him I love running through the grass barefoot, arms extended outward, eyes closed, face turned toward the sun, not a care in the world.
"Well, this is that, but different," he answered.
He leads me to a ladder and shows me how to tape and chalk my hands. I take a deep breath before climbing upward.
An instructor waits on the platform, prepared with a safety harness and belay that connects to the swing in front of us. In front of me. I can see a net and two spotters on either side of it on the ground; Lulu is also on the ground, further to the side.
My hands holding the bar are sweaty as I pull the trapeze bar above my head. My toes clench onto the two-foot by one-inch bar wedged under the balls of my feet. My mind races. The chalk dust between my fingers and toes provides an anti-slip texture. I hear the facilitator behind me breathing; my heart is pounding everywhere.
I try to regulate my breath.
I know I can't stay up here forever.
I feel the instructor loosening the grip behind me, and at that moment, I jump. Flying across the divide, over the nets, I finally feel free. Then, I swing in mid-air before I tuck my feet, release my hands, and somersault, landing into the safety net below.
Landing in that net felt like the first real breath I'd taken in years. First, I lost my dad, then my childhood home, so that job loss had felt like a somersaulting freefall -- unexpected, sudden, scary, out of my control. But stepping off the trapeze platform? This was a catalyst for choosing to fly.
Within weeks, I was booking a one-way ticket to Southeast Asia, ready to rediscover my calling. Lulu was right - losing my job wasn't the scariest thing I'd do. But it also wasn't the most liberating. Sometimes, you have to jump first to remember you have wings.
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