Last weekend, I threw a handcart at a UW parking official.
It was somewhat provoked, and I'm sure if more people had handcarts at their disposal this would be a common occurrence for him. I jumped in my car and drove away before he could print the ticket and give it to me. Of course, my trunk was still filled with the heavy boxes of resources I was trying to drop off for the College Access event I needed to start in 30 minutes. I was running on my fifth consecutive night of less than 5 hours of sleep and lugging the boxes from our free parking location back to the building seemed more daunting and depressing than my decided action.
Having just fled the UW parking official, I stopped my car not 20 feet away, around a corner, and threw the heavy boxes and bags of buttons onto the UW lawn. I drove away very aware of the fact that I was snapping. Professionalism be damned. UW parking official be damned. My job, my life in Seattle, everything that I'd built in the past three years be damned. I was done playing Atlas, shouldering way more work responsibilities than I was being given support, recognition or compensation to justify the 50 to 60 hour weeks.
I drove home, transitioned into biking gear and returned to campus for the boxes on the lawn and the event that was now going to start late. As I rode, the only condolence I could give myself was the conviction that after my event, I would finally send out the email of my resignation. I planned it all out in my head: I quit. Short and simple. To the point. No room for negotiation.
I quit. As I breathed the phrase in, I started feeling the tightness loosen in my chest, the weight lift off my shoulders. I cried, briefly, either from the wind in my eyes or the release of stress I'd been holding close for so long. It's true, I was embarrassed at snapping, at losing my professional cool at some sad parking official who probably hates himself more than the people he treats badly. But I'm glad for the breaking and the embarrassment... they were feelings, at last. I'm not a robot: I can still break if pushed too hard. I'm not an alien: I can still engage feelings of embarrassment, loneliness, relief and hope.
Back on campus, I retrieved the handcart and the boxes, still exactly where I left/threw them. I started the event with partners, distributing resources and beginning conversations with students and parents about colleges and the financial aid packages they had been offered. Someone from a partnering organization said that I looked like I needed a hug. As the event went on, I remembered why I was doing my work. It was for the students and their families. It was for the partners who helped support all the resources we brought to the schools. It was for the fact that I actually like program management, evaluating successes and failures, brainstorming strategies to make our programs relevant, better. And it was for the belief that education can lead to social change, that each student holds a potential to change the path they've been given and that perhaps a college education can help them get there.
I didn't end up quitting. I'm still at my job, though I don't feel as stuck as I did before. I'm committed to a 40 hour work week and calling sick days for meltdowns. I can make it to June 30th, when the company sunsets my work and lays me off, rather than terminating my own employment. I'm committed to finding ways to feel human, to connect with people, to gain my bearings and space in this city before I leave.
I need to find the present. I need to be here, now, especially when life is the most frantic and busy. I need to cut those puppet strings attached to people willing to use me up and start dancing for myself. Then, I'll be able to climb to the rooftop and sing out like Pinocchio: I've got no strings! and like those blessed Harmoniums: Here I am! Here I am! Here I am!
If I quite myself enough, I can hear the answer in the wind or the sun on my face: So glad you are.
I'm only loosely attending to work today and only as it happens to fall in between cuddling my niece and playing trains with my nephew.
