Phoenix

Four years ago, I started a new job. It was a job I was fairly excited about - a transition from one career path to another. It was a fresh start.

The job turned out to be a nightmare.
I lived in fear of each new day, had no idea what to expect from my seriously mentally ill boss, began to question my own integrity, skills, and self-worth as a result of her constant abuse. It turned into a very dark time.

I didn't make enough money. I had a house payment. I didn't know how to cope with the veritable mountain of shit life was serving me, so I didn't. Cope, that is. I partied more, ignored my abysmal checkbook, let my house to go rack and ruin. I was in full-on survival mode. Standing still for too long meant I had to really think about what was going on, and with no solutions (new job, more money) in sight, I just gave up.

Eventually, I even gave up on the job. I felt like a complete failure, a loser, a slacker. Who quits a job when she doesn't have a new one lined up? Me, that's who.

It turned out to be a very good decision. Moving away from that situation ended up, in hindsight, to be the best idea I had in a long time. Without a new job on the horizon, I had to get creative. I made ends meet by cooking for people, substitute teaching, and I even wrassled up a writing gig for the local paper.

And, through all that, I learned two things: A) I learned I CAN do it on my own. B) I learned to trust my instincts.

I decided I wanted out of education once and for all. It had kept me sick for a long time. It was time to do things I loved without fear of power-hungry or hyper-critical people lurking around me. I loved cooking. I loved writing. I worked to find ways to make them pay.

So something good came from that no good very bad job.

Also, out of that horrible job, bloomed a friendship. My friend Stephanie started work in the department from Hell on the same day, under the same crazy boss. Eventually she created a space for herself in another part of the organization, and I flew the coop, but we remained friends, mostly over email.

We have talked to one another every day for four years, ad nauseum. She and I got married the same summer. We share stories about our husbands, our finances, our homes, our goals for having children, our various female aches and pains, whatever. Because we don't see each other in person very often, I think we feel freer to be honest about our fears, shortcomings, and weaknesses. And that is a very good thing. Everyone needs a friend whom she can tell without regret "Crap! I have nine cents in my checking account." "Man, my husband is an ass right now."

Stephanie and I have set a lot of goals for ourselves, and helped each other reach them over the past four years. Mostly, we've bounced our ideas for getting the finances under control off of one another. We've shared trade secrets for living cheaply, making a family budget, keeping the husbands' spending in line.

So how does this post relate to the overall theme of "promises, goals, regret-less living?" Well, in lots of ways. Over time, I'll share some of Stephanie's and my tricks, successes, and failures in this space.

But most of all, my point is this: out of the rubble, rises the phoenix. This is not to say that I am a phoenix. But it is to say that many good things have come from that terrible job. Most of them happened due to fairly careful and specific planning and goal-setting on my part - a skill that I had to learn in order to survive, and one that goes against my very nature.

If I can do it, anyone can.