Back Outside

Once again, I have a post that I feel belongs solely in this space- a post about my growth and personal changes. Anyway, I believe that I'd mentioned before that I took on a local retail job to build up some extra money. I never questioned if that was good move for me. I've worked retail for most of my adult life. Even after I first graduated with my master's degree and I had my first jobs in my field, I stayed right there in Petsmart. It was comfortable. It was familiar. It was my back up. I knew retail. 

When I decided that I was ready to step back into retail after a year of working from home at my current full-time job, and a few years only working in my career field, I decided to ask my mentee to hook me up at the place where she worked. I'm too grown and experienced to be running the streets and walking in and out of stores, looking for something barely above minimum wage. Thankfully, her place called me back almost immediately.

Outside of the extra coinage, I was thankful to have something to dress up for once again. Working from home makes you suddenly become a person who lives solely in sweats, because there is no one nearby to look presentable for. It just seems pointless to get dressed to the nines to go sit in a coffeehouse and then go for a Target run. Hell, even showers become optional. But after nearly a month at my new side job, as much as I liked the new people I worked with, I started to face a strange new truth- I have absolutely zero in common with my retail coworkers.

When I'm at my full-time job, I have meaningful conversations with nearly everyone I encounter. We talk about our vacation plans (I was stoked to spend my birthday in Alaska this year- no regrets, it was stunning!), we talk about finances, we mostly have similar educational backgrounds and career experience, many coworkers at my full-time job are even close in age. And while I have very little in common with the retail acquaintances I now share, I struggle to find out where I fit in this new puzzle.

I'm not quite sure how or why it hit me so hard. But all of a sudden, I noticed our disconnect. I live in a rather expensive side of town, nearby the job, and I'm thankful to pay my rent every month, without much hiccup. Most of my coworkers live further out, where the COL is a bit cheaper. I find myself talking to the customers, who mostly live close by, about interest rates and real estate. Or we may talk about our careers, while I discuss my full-time job.

I don't have quite the same rapport with my coworkers at the retail spot, save for the managers who I occasionally chat it up with. I have a therapist, whom I pay out of pocket, and I openly discuss how much I love her. None of my coworkers at the retail spot say much when I mention her. Not that I expect them to. I feel like most of them have no idea what it's like to have a therapist on deck, just for overall emotional support. So how could they comment on something they really can't relate to?

And for some strange reason, this epiphany hit me kind of hard. I'd spent so much of my adult life working low-paying retail jobs, at what point did I no longer feel connected to my fellow retail workers? I should probably feel proud to have moved into another space in my life. But it felt wrong for me to acknowledge that I no longer felt like a retail worker. I felt like I was almost slumming it by working there. On every level in my body, I feel like I am no better than any worker in that store. But we seem to not connect. I just don't feel like I fit in that space anymore and I'm wracked with guilt over it.

A coworker at my full-time job is talking about flying me out to see the Northern Lights with her in the early spring. Another coworker there just got back from Jamaica and she's heading to Cancun for her upcoming birthday. I'm still very much working on having not just one book, but two books under my belt. These are things that I am beyond proud of, as I should be.

I'm not sure how much longer I'll be working retail. The plain fact is that I'm exhausted. I look like I'm in my 20's, but my back and knees are telling a completely different story. I've only been here for a month, and I'm already thinking that I'm too old for this shit and the fact is that I don't need this shit, especially as we go into the holidays and the lines are getting heavier. Maybe I'm getting too old for this and I need to accept that? How can I accept that without feeling elitist? The old me would have rightfully felt quite insulted had someone confessed these feelings to me back then. But much like many other things in life, the experience is quite different once it is something you personally face.

On another note, on Thursday, while my son was getting his hair cut, I'd rushed off, and walked into a nearby department store, in an attempt to get some extra steps on my pedometer. While mindlessly walking around, I ran into a guy who runs a local record shop. We embraced briefly, when he invited me to a podcast that was being recorded at his shop that evening. I gladly accepted.

I walked into the event that night, stressed from the day's chores, but glad to get away. Outside of the friend who invited me, I didn't know anyone. I settled into a couch, next to a man I'd never met. We sat silently, before I finally reached over and gave him my hand. "I'm Malika," I started. He gave his name and I commented on the Temple sweatshirt he was wearing. Within minutes, we were familiar chums. Moments later, another man I'd known, a former writer for Creative Loafing, walked in. I excitedly hugged him, and quickly introduced him and the man I'd just met, secretly hoping they'd make a love connection.

Someone also introduced the photographer of the event. He was a man who's name I'd known, as one of his recent picture books featured a few pics of my best friend. I introduced myself to him and bought one of his books for my friend. I appreciated his dry wit, and I offered him to meet me for coffee one day. He gladly accepted.

Eventually, the show started. I didn't recognize any of their names or faces of the male hosts or the female guests, but I quickly saw that that they would be great assets to the project I'm currently working on. The topic was essentially generational music and passing the torch in the Atlanta scene. Both women talked about attending Tambor parties, and while Tambor isn't quite my scene, I'd consider it adjacent to me, as quite a few of my friends frequent them and the last time I went to one, I saw some of my people there. One woman also happened to be the wife of a well-known tattoo artist I'd once met in passing. For me to be in a room with mostly strangers, I somehow felt like I was among friends and family.

Once recording stopped, I quickly walked up to both women and introduced myself, and announced that I am a social worker. Both women hugged on me and presented me with business cards. Afterwards, the music started. House music. Everyone in the room danced and laughed. The energy was electric. And I had a sudden thought. 

"I'm home."

I don't think I'd realized how stressful the last few years had been on me. I didn't realized that I'd kind of cocooned and went internal for a while. Minimal casual dating/sex. Not really looking to make new friends. Just sticking to what I knew and what was familiar. I focused on my job, my son, my finances, and my sanity. I needed to feel secure again. And I got it. I feel secure in myself. My soul, my spirit, my mind, my body. My energy. 

Still okay with Dexter, even tho I realized things with Love ain't happening. I'm okay just booing up with Dex for cuffing season. I'm enjoying my life on my terms. Just like I'd told Dex before, I have made the mistake of trying to fit people into the mold I want them to be. I'm meeting them where they are. And I like that Dex is where I am. Just living life on life's terms. No expectations and no attempts to move things from where they currently fit naturally.

I'm back outside. And this feels good.