Here is how I measure the progress in my life:
I quit my job. There is a guy I worked with there who recently left for a few weeks so he could check himself into rehab. On his last night, we were rolling silverware together and I said, “this place is a trigger” and he said “absolutely.”
What I meant was that it was reminiscent my younger days, waitressing, then spending my tips on booze, getting shitfaced with the other servers, blacking out at their apartments or mine. Someone who has been known to drink too much alcohol shouldn’t work at a place that peddles alcohol. Shouldn’t be suggesting it to people, pushing it on them, so that I can make tips and stop at the liquor store and pick myself up a bottle of wine.
I shouldn’t be staying up until two a.m, or three, or four. I should be waking up at seven, making my sons breakfast, walking them to school. I should be writing. I should be practicing yoga and running and sending letters to my friends and watching Big Brother without a cocktail in my hand. I should be better than who I was. More responsible, less reckless.
That guy came back after rehab: not 30 days but he made it 21 and returned more tan, less predatory. I was glad and sad to see him. Glad because I like him as a person, sad because I knew he shouldn’t be in a place like this. Neither of us should. A few weeks ago, he told me he was quitting for good. Two days later, I put my own notice in.
I woke up on Sunday, hungover after having last night drinks with my co-workers. I puked, just like in my younger days. But unlike my younger days, I thought, “this is over.” I went to the salon and my hairstylist chopped off my hair: cut it short, clean. “I don’t go backward in life,” he said, referring to his old boss calling him up, asking him to return. And I said, “yeah, me neither,” which isn’t true but I want to be true.
Being unemployed isn’t exactly progress in life to most people, but it is to me. Because I’ve learned that money isn’t what is important to me. It is fulfillment that I’m after. I will fill myself now, rather than emptying myself. I will not drain myself any more. I was empty once. I won’t be again.
This is how I measure the progress in my life: I notice the hole I’m falling down while I’m falling, before I’ve reached the bottom. And I claw my way out, dirt beneath my fingernails, back into the sun.
*First line borrowed from Ta-Nehisi Coates’ Between the World and Me