missing creativity... and kindness?

For the past two years, I’ve felt like the creative part of me has been totally extinguished. Try as I might to fulfill this longing in other ways - blogging, cooking, journaling - nothing would suffice.

I recently heard a sermon that really resonated with me: The pastor was talking about how all caterpillars turn to butterflies. Whether they want to or not, they complete a magnificent metamorphosis and are totally transformed. Before: slugging around hairy bellies. After: fluttering, flitting, and flying like happiness on wings. But sometimes, if we don't recognize our own potential, we still crawl on the ground, even after we have our wings. We live as our former selves, even once the old has gone and the new has come! We don't utilize the beautiful, precious wings perched on our backs.

That’s how this job made me feel: Like I was crawling, when I knew I had the potential to fly. I felt empty and hollow, yet simultaneously weighed down by enormous pressure.

So finally, last week I decided enough was enough. I decided that - even without another job in the pipeline - I’d give my two weeks notice just in time to line up before leaving the country for vacation. A clean break with the perfect distraction perfectly lined up, ready to whisk me off and clear my mind. I marked the date in blur sharpie on my calendar, and started to plan my next move.

But sometimes even the best laid plans come, uh, unlaid.

Last Thursday, my boss asked to talk to me.

Well, I thought, I’m either getting a raise or getting fired. And I’m sure as hell not getting a raise.

When she asked if we could take a walking meeting rather than sit in the office, I knew it was going downhill (not literally, unfortunately).

“I’ve been wanting to catch up with you,” she said.

Uh oh. She never just wants to “catch up.” And isn’t a little hot for this walking meeting? Would’ve gone for double swipes of Degree if I knew this was happening…

“Are you happy here?”

I had two choices here: Lie, and play nice. Or tell the truth, that I had been dreaming - literally - about quitting for months.

“It’s funny you would ask that,” I said. “I’m really not. To be honest, I’d been planning on giving my notice later this month.”

I launched into the spiel I’d rehearsed like a prayer every night before bed. I’ve learned a lot here, but I don't feel fulfilled, I need to move on.

And she got it. She understood. I was surprised my unhappiness had been so evident, but also knew I was so full of dissatisfaction, it must’ve been seeping out of my pores (again, literally, at this point. That ATL heat is no joke).

We discussed next steps (a formal letter of resignation), my future plans (TBD), and timeline (my assignments were facing a rare lull, so we agreed on not prolonging it and that I’d just finish out the current week) before she asked if she could give me advice. Not feeling it’d be entirely appropriate to say “Actually, no advice for me, thanks though!” - as much as I wanted to - I obliged.

“Just make sure at your next place of work, wherever it is, you’re kind to everyone.”

Huh?

Is she reading from the wrong script?

I volunteer for Meals on Wheels! I donate to Goodwill! I still make PicStitchs for my friends’ birthdays, and those collages aren’t even cool anymore! I’m a freaking saint! Right...?

“Even though you’re younger than most people in the agency, you’re still in a position of power. And with great power comes great responsibility.” (No, I’m just kidding. But it honestly isn't too far off from whatever she did say.)

I was stunned. She admitted someone - she didn't say who - had mentioned something to her about my behavior in the office. I couldn’t believe it. Why this person didn't say something to my face, I’m not sure. But as surprised as I was that someone felt this way, I wasn't unbelieving that I could’ve acted this way without even knowing. Like I said, I didn't like who I’d become in this environment. If the epiphany hadn’t already come, this would’ve been the come to Jesus moment. I was mean? Without even knowing it? That’s the last thing I would ever, ever want.

Time for a change. Now.