Becoming a Rebel Again
I lost my job last week.
Every list that I’ve made, budget I’ve designed, plan I’ve looked forward to, is now obsolete.
With the economy unwilling to forgive since 2008, and me working in commercial real estate, I’d been prepared for a job loss. But not prepared for it last week. I’ve fantasized about quitting my job at least once every day. Once before lunch. Once after lunch. But imagining a voluntary runaway is different from being told your job is no longer needed.
Before it’s assumed that I set fire to something or mooned the CFO (things I’ve imagined, but refrained from), my job – along with everyone else’s job in my department – is being erased because the large company I work for is cutting off its real estate arm. Our portfolio of buildings is up for grabs. With great luck, if it can be called that, I’ve been given a four-month notice because selling commercial properties is a complicated process and I’ll be needed to see it through. So, I have four months to prepare whatever path is ahead of me. I’ll be given a small severance and letters of recommendation. Well, only if I don’t set fire to anything in the meanwhile. 
I was given the afternoon off to absorb the news.
The sun was bright. The sky blue. The temperature 95 degrees. I crawled into Eddie, shivering despite the summer heat. I slipped on my sunglasses. I backed out of the parking spot that I’ve occupied for the past four years. I rolled down the windows, breathing in hot dry Colorado air, and wondered if I’d ever feel warm again. I reached the stop light and grabbed my phone. But there was no one to call.
For the first time in four years, I yearned for my dad. We haven’t spoken since the day I left Florida, for mutual reasons. I couldn’t call him and ask for his advice. All of my friends were either working, or not the kind of person you call and say, “How ya doin’? Just lost my job, wanna get loaded?”
There was no one to go home to. No one to call.
I’ve never felt so lonely.
Eddie and I drove without a destination except away. With the windows down, air whipping in and out, hands shaky on the wheel, I didn’t head to the mountains like I usually do when I need a drive. Instead I found myself on Hwy 83 where the two lane road is surrounded by red barns and dairy cows. Where there’s flat pasture and cranky old pick-ups. Tractors mowing lawns. It’s a landscape reminiscent of my hometown in Wisconsin. I sought the familiarity of it.
I parked on the side of the road, next to the black-and-white cows, and cut the engine. I climbed onto the hood of my car so I could see the countryside clearly. Grass shuffled against the breeze and it sounded sweet.
Then I cried. Quiet, polite tears.
I didn’t cry because I’d miss my job. I’d been wanting to leave it anyway. I didn’t cry because there weren’t options ahead. But I didn’t know, and still don’t know, how this will affect my expensive apartment. Or my plans for the nursing program. Or my wine habit. All of the progress I’ve made since moving to Denver – would it all disappear?
Looking across to one of the peeling barns in the distance, I thought back to when I was a Midwestern kid. The whole world a land of opportunity, to be bent and shaped as I saw fit. I remembered all the trouble I was back then. Being escorted home by the sheriff for trespassing. Cheating on my calculus exams. Skipping school. Smoking in the bathroom. Racing stolen four-wheelers through the backwoods of northern Wisconsin (we returned them eventually). Sneaking into bars at seventeen by flirting with the bartenders.
There were, of course, consequences to these things. I was a bad kid, a troubled kid, and paid the price for it. Detention, being shunned by the “good” kids, treated unfairly by teachers, and my dad avoided me at all costs.
There are some good memories, too. Fishing on the Peshtigo River. Swimming at the YMCA every morning before school, ears submerged in chlorinated water, the vibrating silence and movement of my limbs providing peace when it existed nowhere else. Sledding in Meadowbrook Park. Camping every weekend at Potawatomi State Park in Door County, lounging barefooted in canvas chairs next to a campfire.
The good. The bad. Back in the Midwest, when I was a rebel child, life wasn’t divided by these things. Because every time I got knocked down, deservedly or not, I always popped right back up. There was endless energy within. Invincibility. And naiveté, of course, which isn’t always a terrible thing.
That’s why I cried on the side of Hwy 83. I wanted to pop back up, but after so much heart break and struggle - some of which I’ve created enthusiastically and stupidly on my own, some of which a result of circumstance, some of which have brought hidden gifts, but have hurt just the same - I no longer possessed endless energy. I’d never felt so tired as I did that afternoon, sitting on top of my car in the middle of nowhere.
I held up well through the rest of that week. Until Friday afternoon.
While driving along a deserted country road, this time Hwy 105, a police officer pulled me over for doing 62 mph in a 50 mph zone. I sat, completely dejected, waiting while he wrote my $162 speeding ticket. Was this really happening to me? Getting laid off and being slapped with a ticket… within the space of three days?
He ripped off my copy from his little metal clipboard and said, “Now drive safe, you hear?” Implying that I wasn’t a safe driver, despite never having been in an accident and never having been pulled over for speeding. (Okay, once before in Florida I was caught speeding, but it’s required to speed on I-95.)
I seriously considered backing him over with my car, but despite the sense of satisfaction it would’ve given, I’m too sensitive to be thrown in the slammer. I allowed him, then, to drive away in a dust cloud of self-righteousness.
When he was gone, I stumbled out of my car, steadying myself against Eddie’s strong outline… and threw up in the ditch. Exhaustion and stress had taken me over.
I slid to the gravel road, slumped against the car tire, hung my head between my knees.
I’m not sure how long I stayed that way, but when the roaring of a motorcycle slowed, sputtered, and stopped a dozen feet from me, reality came back.
The driver kicked the stand and dismounted. He had the look of a serial killer. Or a joyrider. Who could predict?
His booted feet thudded toward me. If he pulled a Smith & Wesson from beneath his untucked tee-shirt, which looked possible, it was of little concern. Just kill me and get it over with, I thought.
He eased close enough to talk, but allowed a comfortable distance to remain. He scratched the heavy whiskers darkening his chin. He looked left to the mountains, then right to the open field.
“Well, now,” he drew out, words dripping out like honey, his tone very unlike his dangerous appearance. “Seems like you’re lost or in some kinda trouble.”
He was obviously Texan. His accent belonged from nowhere else.
“Trouble,” I told him.
“Mm hm,” he murmured, hooking thumbs into back pockets and rocking on his heels. “Trouble’s a damn unfortunate circumstance.”
“You betcha,” I said, obviously a relocated Midwesterner. No one says “you betcha” unless you’re from smack dab in the middle of the U.S.A.
He pushed back his red bandana, giving me a thorough look-over from atop his Aviator sunglasses. I took him in fully, too. Mid-thirties. Sunburned. Barb wire tattoos circling very large biceps. Wranglers a bit too tight, but he had nothing to be ashamed of.
“What kinda trouble?” He asked.
I scrunched up my nose. Should I tell him the truth? “I just got a $162 speeding ticket.”
He whistled through his teeth with what could’ve been appreciation. “Those pigs,” he said, referring to policemen. “Sonsa bitches, all of ‘em.”
The left side of my mouth lifted, understanding the sentiment. “And I got laid-off on Tuesday.”
“Damn, lil’ mama.” He gave a kick to the dusty road to show sympathy. “Luck ain’t on your side.”
I sighed heavily. “I thought about vehicular homicide. For the cop, I mean.”
“I woulda helped burn the body.”
He said it so seriously, but I knew he was joking. I laughed.
He laughed, too, muscled shoulders moving up and down. “You know what I do when I’m down and out?”
I was afraid to know the answer, but he supplied it anyway.
“I take a long ride on Miss Harley over there,” he gestured to his bike. It was a Super Glide. My mouth watered slightly. “And all my worries go’on an’ disappear.”
He stepped forward, right in front of me, and held out a hand. “Take a ride with me, darlin’?”
I hesitated. Really, though, what did I have to lose? And it was a Super Glide. You can’t simply say “no” to it. “It’s been a while since I’ve ridden on a motorcycle.”
He grinned, suddenly looking quite sexy. “The only thing you gotta remember,” he said, words like honey again. “Is hold on tight.”
I lifted a brow.
“Real tight.”
I smiled. And I took his hand.
I climbed onto the back of his Harley, feeling a tinge of excitement. Feeling, just a little bit, like a kid again. I scooted close so that my thighs hugged his and wrapped my arms around his middle.
“Tighter,” he said.
I obliged.
We blazed forward. He took the corners fast and we dipped low into the road. My stomach lurched and I buried my forehead between his shoulder blades. Connected to this mysterious man, the heat and steel of him dangerous yet comforting, I wasn’t lonely anymore. My troubles flew away, as promised. There was nothing except hanging on tight and leaning into the curves. The scenery zipped by, colors flashing, and I saw, once again, that the world is a beautiful place. Soon I tilted my head back, way back, until the fire of afternoon burned my face.
On the back of that rumbling beast of a bike, I became a rebel again.
When the ride was over and he idled next to my car, where we’d left it, I hopped off.
“Thank you,” I said, feeling light and breathless. And happy.
He winked at me. “Pleasure’s mine.” He revved the engine and nodded to my car. “Drive it like it’s stolen, baby.”
“Shiny side up,” I returned.
Back behind my own (four) wheels, I shook out my knotted hair and examined my sunburn in the rear view mirror. The face that looked back, lobster-like as it was, had strength and resilience once again. I refused to let any “sonsa bitches” ruin my day. Or any lay-off ruin my life. At any moment, after all, you can fly away on a Harley and escape your troubles long enough to get some perspective.
I’m renewing the Midwestern rebel kid inside of me. Not be the girl who always got detention, but be the girl who always pops back up.
Go ‘head, do your worst to bring me down. Throw every obstacle in my way. Throw me heartbreak. Throw me uncertainty. Throw me pain. And disappointment. Loneliness. Hunger. Fear.
I’ll catch it all willingly. And keep it close to my hopes. My dreams. My desires. My fantasies of vacationing in Bali 
.
Nothing will fuel my run toward succeeding faster than being told success is impossible. Or having everything taken away. Or being told “no” too many times.
Because, after all, a rebel loves a challenge.
Go You!
Claire Rudkins
August 2, 2011 at 12:01 pm
@ Claire – Thanks!
SimplicityBySunny
August 2, 2011 at 3:33 pm
I’m glad you’ve got your bounce back, Sunny! Keep the faith, Baby, and have a stupendous weekend!
Anne
August 2, 2011 at 12:02 pm
@ Anne – I’m keepin’ the faith. You have a fantastic weekend yourself!
SimplicityBySunny
August 2, 2011 at 3:34 pm
Hot damn, what a story! So far down, and then so far up. Your loneliness was truly heart-wrenching and then your tale of the motorcycle ride was equally exhilarating. You sure can write a good story, and no one can lay you off from that.
I’d like to be the one to remind you this is not the first story like this we’ve read from you. I seem to remember other situations where you where down and out but still managed to find the “sunny” side of life. You do seem to play the role of “the girl who always pops back up” quite well.
“Living well is the best revenge.” – George Herbert
Live it up!
Bradon Wesche
August 2, 2011 at 12:45 pm
@ Bradon – Have I ever told you how much I love you having you around? Your comment brightened my afternoon. It’s true, there have been many downs…and lots of pop-back-ups. And, Herbert, that ol’ dog…. He sure knows what he’s talking about
SimplicityBySunny
August 2, 2011 at 3:36 pm
Wow,are you living in a movie?! Loved your story.
Dawn
August 2, 2011 at 12:54 pm
@ Dawn – If this is a movie, I want to talk to the wardrobe department….
SimplicityBySunny
August 2, 2011 at 3:43 pm
Sunny. if there is one thing that I certain of, it’s that you will be fine. You belong in a more spirited, creative job anyways. My hubby took a lay-off a few years back, so a young man with three kids wouldn’t have to.It was a week before Xmas, and as proud of him as I was, I was scared.Then he was called back, but in another capacity.He had to work in a job he hated, with people he didn’t respect.Then came another lay-off.This time, I almost died from an infection, had two surgeries and no health insurance;life was really sucking for us in so many ways, but guess what? He got called back to work for the same company, but in a job that he LOVES.He LOVES his new co-workers and is so freaking happy now.That old saying that when one door closes a window opens is so true.You will see.You can’t even imagine what the universe has in store for you. You need to read “God on a Harley”, by Joan Brady.It’s my favorite, up-lifting book, with a really positive message. You after noon kind of reminded me of that book.
Just know you have a lot of your blog-readers rooting for you Sunny.Hank tough kiddo!
Carolyn
Carolyn
August 2, 2011 at 3:14 pm
@ Carolyn – Thank you for sharing your experience! I knew, even on the day that I got laid off, that I wasn’t in as difficult a position as many have found themselves in these past years. I’m grateful for my simple life (as a minimalist, I can move easily and I don’t have complicated financial commitments) and I’m optimistic for what’s ahead. Knowing that you’ve struggled, that your husband has struggled – and you’ve both made it successfully to the other side – fills me with comfort. I’ll certainly hang tough – and I’ve got Joan Brady’s book on my “to read” list. It’s been there for a while, I’m afraid, as you mentioned it a while back. I’ve been a lazy reader this summer
SimplicityBySunny
August 2, 2011 at 3:48 pm
Ack!!! Sunny! Can I just send you a big ol’ virtual hug and say I’m praying for you??? I cannot have this kind of crap happen to my favorite online personality!
Still, going on a motorcycle ride with an unknown stranger is just so freaking cool. You exude coolness, even in tears. Honestly, you are just amazing even when you’re down…You may think you’re alone, but you’re not! There’s a dork in Oklahoma that cares about you!
izzy
August 2, 2011 at 6:25 pm
@ izzy – Yes, you absolutely may! Don’t worry, I’m hanging in there and I’m sure there will be many good stories ahead about all of the interesting trouble I get myself into. I exude coolness? No one’s ever said that to me before. You probably wouldn’t think that if you actually saw me sitting on the side of that road. No, I’m certainly not alone, am I? Texas and Oklahoma – I swear, these two spots grow the best darn (fabulously dorky) people
SimplicityBySunny
August 3, 2011 at 4:41 pm
Good luck, rebel girl. From Brazil.
Anderson
August 2, 2011 at 7:26 pm
@ Anderson – Thank you, Mr. Brazil Man
SimplicityBySunny
August 3, 2011 at 4:38 pm
been there-done that
right now get your name in a temp agency, i got hospital work the next day and yes they were jobs i hated and a few i loved. try to get to different work sites to see what place you’ll like to work in. you’d be surprised how happy people are to get an extra set of hands. also pick up as many skills that will be useful to you. i had a friend who learned all his computer and word processing skills as a temp, something one would usually go to school for. he took alot of evening jobs (i did too where it’s not so overwhelming).
of course your priorities will be paying your bills. i lived on alot of grilled cheese during those times, buying the 32 slice packs, cheap margarine and free bread the store gave away at the end of the day. that and a box of generic tea and cigarettes (ok-this was the 70′s!). and i was happy!
i also sold a few pieces of unloved jewelry to help have a bit put aside.
oddly enough i had more with less and was strangely happy. i made a few good friends during my job crunch, worked less hours by doing a few double shifts on w/e’s with time and a half which then was a whole worked week in 2 days!
it seems like the end of the world-i know. but don’t even give yourself time to feel bad about it. call an agency eight now!
dianon
August 3, 2011 at 7:11 am
sorry-that was call an agency right now…
another friend told me she actually saved money during her layoff.
didn’t spend on carfare, coffee, lunch out, vending machines and dry cleaning!
dianon
August 3, 2011 at 7:46 am
@ dianon – gotcha, I’m good at deciphering. Dry cleaning expenses ARE outrageous. We spend a lot of money to go to work, often without realizing it.
SimplicityBySunny
August 3, 2011 at 4:44 pm
@ dianon – Thanks for all the great pointers! “and i was happy!” Who says times of struggle aren’t also times of happiness? I love grilled cheese… especially with pickles.
SimplicityBySunny
August 3, 2011 at 4:43 pm
Congratulations Sunny,
Even though change did not arrive as you may have preferred, still it is by your design. I am excited with you about the next adventure and the joy headed your way. I, too, am looking for a change in my life and have purposed to leave my job at a designated date and time. Some days I am so excited, know that I will be clear of this particular obligation and open to pursue work/joy in an area I am passionate about. Until that day arrives, I am sorting out my priorities and reworking what I thought were my desires.
All is well. We need only shift…
Yours on the journey
Zaftig Diva
August 3, 2011 at 8:06 am
@ Zaftig – Yes, it is still by my design, isn’t it? From here I’m making the decisions and plans that I want to make, even if the timing isn’t what I’d originally expected. Best of luck to you as you shift priorities and prepare for the wonderful ~ passionate ~ work ahead.
SimplicityBySunny
August 3, 2011 at 4:37 pm
You rule, girl! Great story – I am certain it will all turn out for the best, and that you will, inevitably, land Sunny-side up
Virtual hugs!
Laura
August 3, 2011 at 8:08 am
@ Laura – Sunny-side up is better than scrambled
Or poached. Or runny. Sunny is definitely up, but she always loves getting virtual hugs 
SimplicityBySunny
August 3, 2011 at 4:18 pm
Oh my gosh, what an amazing story – only you Sunny! and I agree with Izzy above, we’ll all be waiting for the next story from you and cheering you on. And you will land just fine, look at what you have done so far, so brave. Virtual hugs from Seattle too, and coffee if needed!
kimberly
August 3, 2011 at 10:28 am
@ kimberly – Not brave, just willing. Thank you for the hugs! They are happily received… and returned. Don’t worry, you and Izzy will be the first to hear of whatever craziness will happen next! And, yes, coffee is ALWAYS needed….
SimplicityBySunny
August 3, 2011 at 4:16 pm
p.s. now I want to play hooky and go for a motorcycle ride!
kimberly
August 3, 2011 at 10:29 am
@ kimberly – Me, too. I shoulda put Mr. Harley on my speed dial
SimplicityBySunny
August 3, 2011 at 3:53 pm
Rebel,
Wow!
Sorry to hear about that Sunny.
But, you have to know something good will prevail out of this! Rebels know that already though, I don’t need to tell you.
“Slap adversity in the face and shake it like a rag doll; somehow thanking it all the while.
For this my friend will humble your soul, persuading you to go that extra mile.”
Welcome your fresh new start, how else? with a Sunny toast! Wine glass over flowing of course. So here’s to it!
Cheers Sunny! You will prevail! Your obvious determined spirit will take you amazing directions unseen.
Kel
PS – We Texans, have a BIG heart, are down right friendly, and would help anyone!
Kel
August 3, 2011 at 10:39 am
@ Kel – Of course something good will prevail! I like the rag doll visualization, and I especially love having my soul humbled. Thank you for the toast. As luck would have it, I found an excellent $6 bottle of wine last week, if you can believe it. Very convenient for the Watching-Pennies Sunny
SimplicityBySunny
August 3, 2011 at 3:50 pm
thanks for these glimpses(sp?) into your life.
looking forward the your next adventure.
eema
August 3, 2011 at 12:28 pm
@ eema – I’m looking forward to the next adventure, too! You spelled it perfectly
SimplicityBySunny
August 3, 2011 at 3:46 pm
Your stories never cease to amaze me! Not only do I get SO drawn into your writing that I find myself smiling or frowning depending on the circumstance (even LOL-ing ;D), but I am thoroughly impressed with your ability to grab life and give it hell! I seriously envy your ability to bounce back. And, you have no idea how much I just felt for you when you said you were truly alone… I understand how painful and debilitating that realization can be. I wish I had even half of the strength of character that you do!
Sunny, you positively rock in a way very few ever do. ^-^-b
Chandra
August 3, 2011 at 4:50 pm
@ Chandra – I wish my stories would involve more vacations, but c’est la vie!
Glad to hear there’s a lil’ LOL-ing happening over on your end. We all have ability to bounce back, seriously. We’re all so much stronger than we give ourselves credit for, but often we don’t learn of our strengths until we’re given challenge/difficulty/heartbreak.
And I certainly don’t feel alone any longer – I’ve got such great friends here….
SimplicityBySunny
August 4, 2011 at 12:07 pm
Sunny, that was a wonderful post. Thank you.
Neeta .
neeta
August 3, 2011 at 9:58 pm
@ neeta – You’re welcome! Thanks for reading.
SimplicityBySunny
August 4, 2011 at 12:03 pm
Great post.
I like the midwestern nostalgia. I grew up in MN and now live in Madison. Drives out to watch the rolling fields have always had a calming effect. Great to read someone else sits on the hood of her car like I do.
And you HAVE to speed on I-95 to avoid getting run over.
Again, great post. Lots of motivation to tackle my own challenges.
Hugh
August 4, 2011 at 10:40 am
@ Hugh – Love Mad-Town! You mean I’m not the ONLY hood-of-car crazy person? There’s a comfort in that. Sometimes I even play the stereo and let it come up through the windows. I’m a lot more bohemian than people would expect
You’ve experienced the dangers of I-95? I tell ya, that Interstate is a death trap. Best of luck in staying motivated and tackling your challenges.
SimplicityBySunny
August 4, 2011 at 12:02 pm
Sunny – Here’s to everlasting sunshine and warm hugs!
You are one incredible human being, and your resiliancy & strength of character
are simply beautiful to behold. [btw - I grew up in Fla and understand what you mean about
the speeding thing :O ]
Funny, we can feel loneliness in so many ways, even amid a group. However, I’m
touched that you were able to connect with an understanding soul right when you
most needed to. Maybe an angel in disguise [who knows? maybe they sport tattoos nowadays lol]
For some reason, even though things may not appear so at the moment, I have a
feeling that happiness is right around the corner. Glad to see you *pop* back up
when life hits you by surprise, that takes real courage.
You know, Forrest was right about life being akin to a box of chocolates. Although I’d say life is
like a dish of homemade mashed potatoes – you never know when you’re going to
bite into a big ol’ lump – and sometimes you gotta scrape the bottom, but it taste so good
we always come back for more!
Mary D
August 6, 2011 at 9:17 pm
@ Mary D – I can think of no better wish than to have everlasting sunshine! And hugs, too. Thank you so much for your compliments, though I know we are ALL stronger and more capable than we think. Mr. Harley looked more like the devil, but I mean that in a good way
. But it IS rather strange how we’re connected and uplifted to the most unexpected people at the most unexpected times.
Florida driving requires nerves of steel, a very strong seatbelt, and practice at using one’s middle finger! (Not that I, myself, ever flipped anyone off.)
Did you say “chocolate”?
SimplicityBySunny
August 8, 2011 at 9:50 am
Hey, I’m a lurker and rare commenter, but I thought I should pop my head aboveground to say:
1. I’m sorry. Losing a job is scary, especially now.
2. I really hope you are able to work out things for nursing school- the world needs nurses like you!
3. I’ll keep you in my thoughts and hope that a fabulous job which allows you to study will show up soon.
(((hugs)))
Aurora
August 7, 2011 at 2:41 pm
@ Aurora – Thanks for popping up! It is, indeed, a scary time, no matter how much you try thinking of the lay-off as “opportunity”. At this point I’m still moving ahead with school, but I need to find a way to save enough money between now and the time I start my clinicals, because I can’t work full-time during the last year of nursing school. But I have determination and optimism, which I’ve found to be the best tools for success. Thank you for keeping me in your thoughts ~ I’m uplifted by all of the support and virtual hugs I’ve received
.
SimplicityBySunny
August 8, 2011 at 9:45 am
wow you just blew me away. I expected at the end for you to say this is a scene in a book you’re writing. I was totally wrapped up in it. Beyond the writing, I am so sorry for the loss of your job but it appears losing it might force you out of a situation you were unhappy with anyways. Silver lining on a cloud and all that jazz. Good luck and I’m glad you popped back up
thethingswewrite
August 11, 2011 at 6:50 am
@ thethingswewrite – Real life is SO much better than fiction
Don’t worry, I’m learning many things through this process and am excited/scared/willing to move forward into whatever comes next.
SimplicityBySunny
August 11, 2011 at 9:22 am