I may have baggage, but at least it’s Louis Vuitton

Just kidding — I can’t afford that brand yet!

Alternate entry title: ‘Wake me up when September ends’

I’ve never understood why we acknowledge “anniversaries” of epic, tragic events — whether worldwide or personal ones. Anniversaries should be celebrations of great things — marrying the right person, ending a war, stopping whatever desructive habit that keeps us from being greater beings who achieve greater things.

That said, September is an anniversary month for me, of sorts — this month last year, I quit two very bad habits. And both happened under auspicious circumstances — although admittedly, their absence brought more positive energy to my life. And today, I resolve to let go of the last piece of the puzzle so I can truly be free. So here it goes:


Most of you know the *real* story of how I left my last job, but the Cliff’s Notes version is that through the power of the SiteMeter, I saw the former employment establishment (about whom I spoke disparagingly at worst and humorously at best) had discovered said blog. I resigned and left people wondering how I knew that they knew.

The thing was, it was my one chance to make things right. Unasked, I ripped down the site and have kept it offline — if you want to know the truth, I knew the day would come that someone would see it and, hell, I hoped they’d see it. In any event, my volunteering of my resignation before I was even approached stunned them further, and I was commended for wanting to step aside without a fuss.

I may act like an ass sometimes, but I will always own up to it and will never miss a chance to be the better person or, at least, *A* better person.

I don’t ponder the question of whether I’d kept quiet, would I really have been ousted. I don’t want to know that answer. I wouldn’t be as happy as I am right now, so why think about still being in a job I loved but in an environment in which I personally was failing to thrive? Not to mention, but Big Changes happened based on things I’d written. Good things that wouldn’t have happened without my opinionated ass documenting Everything. And my replacement? The perfect fit for the job.

But leaving said environment, however, kicked off many, many months of frustration (read: poverty) for me. Yet the glimmer of hope that all this bullshit was happening for a reason and would, ultimately, lead me to the reward for all the strife prevailed.


I’m proof that the universe may do its level best to break you, but it will also swoop in and save you — it will restore you to any level of greatness you’ve already achieved and will give you back even more.

The problem is, the universe doesn’t work on your timetable. You have to go through a lot of shit for an unbearable, unspecified period of time before your glory day arrives. In my case, it was all I could do to make sure I was here — that the train of opportunity would find me waiting at the station. And damn, I was lucky in that regard.

What no one can prepare you for, though, is when your life has turned around, and the proverbial woodwork is suddenly bursting with invitations and other correspondences that were conspicuously absent not so long ago, when you had all the free time in the world. It’s not malicious, just curious. Anyone who has ever recovered from some major disappointment needs an adjustment period — like, wow, the world kept turning while I was gone … how do I jump back onto the ride? Moreover, how tightly can I hold on so as not to fall off again?

Awhile back, I was corresponding with a Major Blogger who’d famously gotten the boot because of her blog. And I was telling her how losing one’s job equals losing one’s identity when you’re single and alone in a city without your family. She was surprised and intrigued by my take on it — she had a husband, a house, a child on the way. Losing the job, to her, meant the impetus to be a stay-at-home mom. She wasn’t concerned about losing her living quarters or her transportation — I’d venture that she didn’t love her work the way I did, either.

But I’m not known for *driving* with my rearview mirror — why on earth should I live that way, looking back? My spiritual restoration is almost complete, save for one last question I need to just say already so I can get over it and be whole again.


The bad things I am telling you about are not the things to which I cling — they are the introduction to the one thing, during this anniversary of what ultimately can be named my liberation, that I am going to have to live without solving.

Who did it?

Who caused my demise?

Rather, who precipitated the veritable shitstorm of events that took an otherwise hardworking, albeit disgruntled, person out of the only capacity that truly defined her and left her to die on the streets not unlike bumbling state/local/national leaders just did to the people of the South in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina?

And why am I letting them walk this world with unbroken kneecaps?

Moreover, how do I keep them from fucking up all I have worked so incredibly hard to rebuild?


I’ve had a theory on this mysterious entity for the longest time. Not just the “who” but also the “how.” Sure, it coulda been serendipity, but I don’t believe that for one solitary second. People like me are hard to break, and this was the one thing that could/did shatter me. Somebody knew that, I am sure.

Whoever you are, you didn’t ruin me. I am a Better Person Than You and I will reap double my own rewards AND yours for this.

The immediate good that came out of it was that I quit smoking. I almost lost my car and my apartment — and I wasn’t going to let that happen and yet still be wasting $3 a day on a pack of Camel Lights. So, let’s call that the first triumph of many. I became more spiritual, too — that in and of itself was perhaps the most amazing result of all.

I’m a big believer in leaving old, useless baggage at the curb. I don’t carry old relationships into new ones. The power of the clean slate has Saved My Life.

Sure, I need time to process — who doesn’t? When you go from spending 75 hours of your week one way to having absolutely nothing resembling the life you knew and no safety net, you’re going to be fucking rattled. For a long time.

The grieving process was for losing me. But out of that emerged someone better, someone stronger, someone more sensitive, someone less impulsive, someone more appreciative … someone more understanding that the only world she can change, for now, is her own.

Moreover, she’s someone who doesn’t waste time on nonproductive pursuits — she wants and deserves the highest quality in every realm. While, yes, many things take work, I’ve learned my limits and will give up beating the proverbial dead horses — when the time came that I needed strength more than ever, I didn’t have any left because I’d spent my energy so carelessly. Often it was done, if not against my will, then at least grudgingly, which burned it up even faster.

New life adventures bring incredible people into your world to accompany those whom you chose to bring along from your old world. Not saying the others left behind aren’t good people in their own right, but maybe they’re better for someone else. Maybe you were the lesson they needed to learn.

Thus, the good thing about new people, places and things is that who I was (or became) doesn’t matter — it’s who I am now and going forward.


And it’s odd, now, to come across things I used to say/do or people I used to know. Things have their easy, even enjoyable moments, but there’s also somewhat of a disconnect. My going theory is that you slip on certain versions of yourself in certain familiar environments, even if that’s skin you shed ages ago. In effect, I suppose that’s baggage you haven’t managed to destroy yet.

I think you guys know the rest of my story: The day after (I discovered that) my blog was discovered, I met the gal who would introduce me to Dream Job. How cool is that? Sure, things didn’t unfold for quite a few months (when a wonderful man suggested that I contact her), but talk about Fate coming in and bitchslapping some sense into you.

Does that mean the hard part’s over? Not yet. Not even close, I’m sure. One thing this whole debacle taught me was the value of establishing a safety net. And whoever he is — and I’m sure that he exists — he will help me to achieve the life balance I’ve never known so that, if (god forbid) I do lose the thing that occupies the majority of my life again, it won’t mean that I’ve lost what I perceived to be everything.

And I know it’s some Eastern (or maybe even Pagan) philosophy that you need to cleanse yourself of the old in order to move forward. In particular, I heard the theory that getting your hair cut is quite symbolic, actually — growing cannot take place until the dead, split ends are eradicated.

Maybe that’s when you get even better things coming your way — had X never happened, then I would never have experienced Y and met Z, just speaking theoretically.

I guess life really does, then, boil down to an algebra equation, and this test is far from over. I just want to make sure I get the answers right so that I can advance to the next question. And I hope to pass that exam with equally flying colors.


I may seem like I’m complaining about being forced to move, but I’m happy about it. (Not about the aggravation/expense, but I love challenges!) The good times have been wonderful here, but the hard times have seen many tears cried into the pillows, too. I’ve always said that the universe takes its own sweet time in helping you, but it also kicks your ass when it believes you’re not moving quickly enough.

Part of becoming a different, better person is taking that new-and-improved goddess and putting her into more fitting accommodations. Better job, better people, better place to call home — a sort of large-scale feng shui. Like when “Miranda” bought expensive sheets on “Sex and the City” in the hopes that, if she made her bed a place where she truly wanted to spend time, then she might attract a good man who would also want to spend time in that bed. Hey, it’s not a bad theory, and I can use all the help I can get! 😉

And as for my one outstanding concern (the “who” and “how”), I may never know, but I believe my intuition has already told me. And if they’re expecting a thank-you for supposedly starting the ball rolling in the right direction, they can keep fucking dreaming.

Like the saying goes, if you ain’t gonna help, then step the fuck off and get outta my way.

I don’t waste energy on revenge, because on my judgment day, I will be proud to report that I didn’t loot and plunder and destroy after injustice was done to me. I will have handled myself with the grace and poise my family instilled in me, and I will have lived and loved and contributed positively to my professional field to the best of my ability.

Even better, I will hopefully have been loved right back.

On iTunes: Mariah Carey: “Shake it Off”

4 Responses to I may have baggage, but at least it’s Louis Vuitton

  1. Shizgirl :

    Right on, sister!

  2. Ted :

    “I will hopefully have been loved right back”

    You already are, sweets.

  3. Pratt :

    This is absolutely the most beautiful piece you’ve ever written. wonderful.

  4. Goddess Dawn :

    *sniffle* I love, love, LOVE you guys!!! *hugs*