Unemployment has made me reassess my past purchases, scrutinizing every item once lovingly placed in my closet. I look at these items now and think, "How much can I get for you?" and with a moment of dread realize that I will not be able to roll the sale money into another pair of designer jeans or the perfect little black dress. Rent will be paid on time and I will escape yet another month of the threat of having to move back in with my parents.
There are few things I have left from my former life in Boston, my Yves saint Laurent sun glasses, the Frye boots that match perfectly with the Marc Jacobs skirt....all of these things that seemed to be staples in my former life now take up valuable real estate in my closet. And as winter in Maine quickly approaches, some things are at greater risk of hitting the Ebay auction block as cooler days are sure to hit I'm in need of wood to heat my home.
I have learned to barter for veggies from my family's garden to freeze for this winter and have learned to make coffee at home, forgoing the twice daily trip to Starbucks which saves me at least $60 a week. I no longer worry if my outfit is suitable for the day, as most of my time is spent sitting at the kitchen table in yoga pants and an old t shirt seeking employment that will pay more than $10 an hour. The few times a week I do make it out of the house and into the world of mid-coast Maine, folks happily greet me from behind counters of the local grocery store and Goodwill wearing dingy jeans and uniform polo shirts. No one seems to notice, or care that I'm often paying for out of budget purchases like a York peppermint patty or a second hand cashmere sweater with quarters, dimes and nickles. I save my pennies for donation to the local animal shelters.
Unemployment has not made me any more resourceful than I was to begin with, but in many ways it's actually made this transition much more difficult. For one glorious year of 70+ hour work weeks, all of my bills were paid on time and money was the one thing that didn't keep me up at night fraught with worry. Going out to dinner several times a week became my new normal and I felt decadent being able to slide my card to the waitress telling my dining partner "I've got it." I felt powerful and optimistic about my life as each morning my feet slid into a pair of pointy toed shoes, ready to take on the world. I had meetings to go to at Harvard and MIT on a weekly basis, and for the first time since living in Boston, I felt that I had finally made it out of the poverty sink hole of rural Maine.
But had I really made it out or was I covering up my past with designer duds and straight hair? When those in my professional life in academia asked me where I was from, I replied Maine. Most thought of Kennebunkport and the Bush family compound sprawling across a rocky coast line. I made no attempt to correct them, fearing my "true" identity would be leaked, thus forcing me back into the stereotype I had fought so hard to escape. I didn't want to answer probing questions about how I got a scholarship for school, or the aquward silence that followed when I expalined why my family hunts to supply meat for the winter months. By maintaining my silence my allegiance within this elite group had been sealed and to the outside world, I seemed to have it together. Until that is, I lost it all.
It's been nine months since I've held down a "real job." On average I send out about 10-15 applications a week, and until 5 days ago, I had not received one offer of an interview. Somewhere around month two of living back in Maine, I began to question my decision to move back here. I could have easily found another job in Boston, kept my tiny and grossly overpriced studio apartment and continued to live the life I thought I had wanted for so long. Had I made a mistake? This morning when I woke up, my cat Seia was sleeping next to me, her tiny paws criss-crossed over my shoulder as the morning sun poured through the window above my bed. As I pushed back the blankets and made my way to the kitchen, the smell of salt water entered through the windows pushing the curtains in and out as if they were alive and welcoming me to a new day. As I filled the 1970's avocado green coffee percolator purchased at Goodwill yesterday for $1.99, I took a moment in the silence of the morning to look objectively at my new life here. My closet is a skeleton of its former beauty, large gaps now visible where there once was an over abundance of material goods I valued so greatly. I have replaced expensive art that once covered the walls of my home with family pictures of my niece and nephew during the lazy days of summer at the beach and on camping trips, marveling at how much they have grown and how honored I am to be a part of their childhood here in Maine.
I wont say that I don't miss cafes or dining out when it's too hot in the house to cook, because I do miss those things. A lot sometimes. But upon occasion when I make the hour drive to town for my venti soy no whip white mocha and the taste is so intoxicating, I will myself to remember that there are thousands, maybe even millions of Starbucks in the world-but there is only one Maine. And this is the life that I've chosen to live, happily.
