Ann paced the floor of her living room full of anxiety. Her company had to scale back its’ overhead and like other large corporations, the first place they looked to cut cost was in payroll. After eighteen years of service, Ann was asked to leave. A few years before, she had lost her husband—and now she lost her job. Her anxiety wasn’t due to monetary concerns. Her husband’s pension comes in monthly and her severance was fair. She could easily budget her funds for the year. No, Ann’s anxiety was due to her measure of self-worth. Since the age of eighteen, she had worked at that company. She “grew up” at that company. She developed her identity there. She met her husband there, her friends there; her entire life was there and now it’s all gone. The only thing left is the feeling of having to start over. Ann and her husband didn’t have any children, but they bought a house. They were waiting until after they traveled, saved enough money, and the time were right for kids. Now it’s just a shattered dream. When he died, it was a sudden thing. He was youthful, healthy and happy. The time they spent together was precious, but the time planning for children she considered wasted. If only they had more time together.
It’s been several hours since she’s been home from her former job. It’s funny when you have time alone all you can think of is the time you think you wasted. Her friends from work said that they would come by and take her out, but, in reality, she really isn’t looking forward to it. They are good people and she loves them dearly, but, what exactly will they be going out for? To celebrate, to make her feel better, or to satisfy their own guilt of having a job still? She doesn’t feel bad about losing the job as a process … she feels bad about having devoted all that time into the only thing she knew to do. She has hobbies and activities, but those were only manufactured to be a distraction from her job. How will she meet anyone again? How do you meet new friends and develop new relationships? Ann’s anxiety was realizing that she had to redefine who and what she is and the possibility that she has to do this … alone.
The next morning Ann wakes up her usual time. Old habits are hard to break and if she gets complacent with her sleep schedule, it could lead to a tough time trying to get back on a schedule later. She puts her robe on and heads for the kitchen. Pulling out a ceramic cup and a teaspoon for tea, she decides she can send out a few resumes to test the waters. She looks out of her kitchen window for the first time in a long time. She had forgotten about the lilacs and roses that bloom in the yard. Her husband planted them the first year they moved into the house. All of the dirt he tracked through the house and the dirt on his clothes that took forever to wash out—it was all worth it. She runs water for her tea as she thinks of the things she should do today.
Last night was nice. Her friends did come over to take her out as promised; they all laughed and shared stories and hugged, and at the end of the night thought they felt better. This morning the truth of the matter is present; she is still going at this alone. As the tea water heats up, she takes out her laptop computer and goes online to check emails. She tweaks her resume and sends it out to a few choice companies then reads the local news. By the time she notices the steam rising in the air from the hot water, she’s completed her computer duties. She pours her tea and lingers around the stove for a moment contemplating where to have her drink, usually it would be around a desk while she types something or she has it in hand as she attempts to avoid spilling it as she walks to the next meeting. She walks back to her bedroom and sits on the edge of the bed. She quietly looks around the room not consciously looking for anything in particular. The television remote beckons to her bored side. She turns on the television and curls up with her cup of tea.
