Remarkably, I did not feel like an adult when I was handed my college diploma. Nor did I feel like an adult when I landed my dream job in Washington DC and moved there with $1000 in my pocket and nowhere to live. And I didn’t even feel like an adult when I walked down the aisle to marry the man of my dreams. I didn’t feel like an adult as my husband and I combined our salaries after marriage and realized we were making over $100,000 a year at age 23.
That all changed November 4, 2008. While this date holds high sentimental value as the day when the first African-American was elected into office, that’s not the reason I feel like an adult.
No, November 4, 2008 was the day I was called into the CEO’s office, told I was a valued employee but unfortunately, I was to be let go. I had 10 minutes to clear my desk, say goodbye to coworkers and then walk to my car and melt into a sea of tears.
My sweet husband was the first to get the news. It didn’t completely shock us. Financial firms internationally were laying people off and we had been putting money in savings just in case. He offered to take the rest of the day off work to spend with me, but I told him to stay – someone had to make the money now! After phone calls to my parents and close friends, I finally collapsed on the couch, completely and utterly exhausted. I had been given a generous severance package, so finding a new job was the last thing on my mind. I was determined to keep high spirits and conquer all those pesky things on my “one day when I have the time” list. So for the next two months that’s exactly what I did. I learned how to cook, for which my husband was very grateful. I did all the Christmas shopping before Christmas Eve. I deep cleaned our small apartment and got rid of all our useless still-in-a-box wedding presents. I wrote letters. I spent quality time with friends and their children. I had lunch with my Mom. I spent time with my brothers and sisters. I organized every drawer in our home. I started reading again, something I was unable to find time to do when working.
And then just like that, I ran out of things to do. I looked up and it was January 5th, 2009 and the days and weeks and months were stretching out before me – taunting me with their emptiness. Still determined to remain optimistic and in high spirits, I started the job search. I figured that surely someone with political experience on Capitol Hill and a degree from a respected University in our state would have no problem finding employment. Was I ever wrong.
January dredged by in front of my eyes. February solemnly began, had a middle and ended. By early March, my husband and I had to face the fact that a new salary wasn’t going to surface soon. So we cut our budget. And then we cut it again. A few weeks later we figured out the minimum amount of money it would take to purchase groceries (eating out was a thing of the past), pay for dry cleaning, gas and miscellaneous expenses and cut our budget again – that left us at $200 a week. For everything. I cannot count the number of times that I dissolved into tears over the prospect of having to eat dry pasta with butter for dinner. My husband, ever the trooper, would kindly smile my direction, dig through the couch for change and head to Chick Fil A. We began to get used to the stealthy glares from waiters at restaurants as we ordered one plate to share and waters to drink. We moved to a smaller apartment. I started to get creative in how I shopped for groceries. I began to compare prices at stores across town. I went to one store to get fruits and veggies, a different store for dry food staples and yet another one for household needs and cleaners.
And then all of the sudden I woke up one morning and life didn’t seem to be so difficult anymore.
Grocery store trips turned into a contest against myself to come in under budget. Desperate glances into our empty pantry turned into an adventure on what I could create for dinner that night. We began to discover fun things to do in our city that were free. I learned that the movie theater down the street offered the first showing of the day on Saturday for $5.00, so we turned Saturday morning into our “date night.”
That’s when I realized I was a grown up. Life will continue to throw curve balls at me. Jobs will end. Careers will change. Cars will break down. Friends will let me down. Money will always seem scarce. But it doesn’t matter, not really. What matters is celebrating life. It is waking up every morning with a renewed sense of purpose. It’s glancing across the bed in the morning and still being surprised that the guy who sat next to me in sophomore economics, the crush I had for years, actually married me. It’s enjoying lunch with my Mom. It’s driving 2 hours on Friday nights just to watch my sisters cheer at a football game.
It’s life. And I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
