Take It Easy

Where is the line between taking a break and giving up?

At what point does resting become quitting?

How do you know when you’ve done enough?

When is it acceptable to just let things be easy?

I’ve decided not to apply to grad school. Not because I don’t think I’ll get in, but because I’m certain I will.

My script is almost finished, and it’s good. Not blockbuster material, but it isn’t meant to be. It’s a campy horror film designed to appeal to a small but not insignificant subset of the population, and I nailed it.

My script is good, my academic record is good, and my recommendations are good. On top of all of that, the University of New Orleans, where I had planned to apply to the screenwriting program, is my alma mater and they are struggling to keep admissions up as more and more young people are finding college to be more expensive than it is worth these days.

The university has announced multiple budget cuts in the past few months, and is on the verge of completely eliminating some departments to save money. They need every student they can get. I am an excellent student. They would definitely take me.

I’m getting better at dealing. People have started telling me I should take my skills to a bigger casino where I would make more money. I could get a job at Harrah’s.

I could get an apartment on campus that would be reasonably affordable. I could work at night and go to school during the day. I’ve done it before. Two jobs and a full-time class schedule.

Getting a master’s degree in screenwriting is a realistic and attainable goal.

But it would be HARD.

Glennon Doyle is famous for saying “we can do hard things.” And there’s no doubt that is true. I can do hard things. I have done hard things. Lots of them.

Doing hard things kind of sucks.

What if, just for a little while, I do not do hard things? Not because I can’t, but because…just because.

Does there have to be a reason to take life easy sometimes?

At what point have I done enough to justify not accomplishing anything for a while?

My life has kind of been a lot.

It’s not just that I had a nasty childhood. My entire existence has been one high-stress situation after another.

When I was 18, I moved to New Orleans with nothing but a couple of suitcases and $200 in my pocket. A small town girl with no resources or life skills or guidance suddenly landing at an elite, private university in a city that can only be described as wild…it’s not really surprising that I only managed to complete half of my bachelor’s degree before failing a class and losing my scholarship.

But also…I managed to get halfway through a bachelor’s degree before I couldn’t hold it all together anymore and had to take a step back.

I needed food. I needed shelter. I needed to work. Any job I could get. As many jobs as I could get.

A few people were concerned with the amount I was working in November and December. I was working seven days a week, sometimes as much as 18 hours a day. Between the photo lab and the casino I was on the clock 80-90 hours a week. I wasn’t worried. I had done it before.

I was exhausted. I came apart a couple of times. But I kept getting up because I was so far behind and the intensity was nothing I hadn’t faced before.

I’m down, but I’ve clawed my way up before.

Before, before, before…

My adult life has consisted of trying to work my way out of poverty, dealing with hurricane Katrina, getting a bachelor’s degree, going to law school, taking a bar exam, dealing with hurricane Isaac, learning to practice criminal law, another bar exam, a traumatic miscarriage, surviving a fucking tornado,¹ having a baby,² being a federal public defender, having another baby, dealing with hurricane Ida, and moving a family of five across the entire fucking country…

When it’s all written out like that, it seems kind of insane.

I just sort of dealt with it. With all of it. I wasn’t always calm. I think anyone who has ever met me would describe me as high-strung, at the very least.

But I coped. With all of it.

While we were displaced after Ida, a friend told me that I’m remarkably good at dealing with a crisis.

I’ve had a lot of practice.

I’ve done well. I have accomplished many things.

Is it enough to have earned a break?

What if, just for a little while, I stopped trying to accomplish all the damn time? What if I just made myself physically comfortable and then coast for a while.

I’ve spent the last two years thinking I need to do something absolutely incredible to make up for leaving my children. Feeling like I ruined their lives and that I have to make it all worth it somehow. Hating myself for failing to be wonderful.

It’s not always a happy thing to have a wonderful person for a mother³

Someday my children will care about who I am and what I do, and they may very well be ashamed of whoever I will be at that point in time. But right now they are small, and they haven’t yet learned to be ashamed of me.

Right now, what they need is a safe, stable place to visit me, and to know when they will see me next.

Thing1 gets anxious if he doesn’t know when he will be with me again. But as soon as you give him a date, it doesn’t matter how far in the future it is, he is calm and happy and secure.

When Thing1 was a toddler, I hung a yearly calendar in his room where we would mark big events. Each month I would print out a paper monthly calendar and tape it to the wall beside his bed. We would decorate the important days, and each night before I read to him we would mark off the current day with a sticker. I had books of stickers specifically for this purpose. Frozen and Paw Patrol and minion stickers.

As long as he can open up a calendar and draw hearts and stars around the day he will see me again, he’s fine. In some ways that feels like a gift that I gave him. I meant to teach him the days of the week and the months of the year and the phases of the moon. And I did. But I also taught him an unexpected but very valuable form of security that I didn’t know he would need.

New Orleans isn’t safe. The city has always had a problem with violence. Random shootings in the French Quarter are a regular occurrence, and the state has now made it even easier than it already was to obtain and carry a firearm. Add in the terrorist attack on New Year’s Day, and going back to work in downtown New Orleans doesn’t feel like a wise decision.

Even if I went to grad school elsewhere, it would still mean my children would spend their summers in a cookie-cutter on-campus apartment with no other children around. They would spend half of their time with me being watched by strangers while I worked.

Housing is cheaper here. I could rent a whole house for the cost of a studio apartment in New Orleans. Here my children are looked after by family while I work, because it turns out that when I was adopted a few years ago I didn’t just get parents, I got aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents, too.

One of my cousins has children around the same age as Thing1 and Thing2. Conveniently enough, this same cousin makes a living doing childcare. Not only do I know my children are safe with someone I trust, I also know they’re bonding with their extended family at the same time.

I talk a lot about the importance of community. If I stay here for a while, I can give my children a community as well as myself.

I still hate it here. This town is still isolated and desolate and completely lacking in opportunity.

Or is it?

Maybe the opportunity I’m overlooking is the opportunity to sit quietly for a while and just be.

The opportunity for life to be easy for a little while.

I’m not making much money right now because at the casino hours are based on seniority and I’m the new kid in town as far as they’re concerned. But if I stick around long enough eventually I’ll be full-time. The seasonal job at the photo lab will come back around each fall, giving me an opportunity to pay down debts and save money for the slow months.

Between needing car repairs and some shenanigans by a credit card company, I didn’t come out of this busy season as well-off as I had hoped. But I make enough at the casino to scrape by for now.

In a couple of months I’ll need to get a second job to put together a deposit and a couple of months of rent money so I have a home for the kids this summer. But with my folks still in the city dealing with my mom’s cancer, now is not really the time to be worrying about relocating.

I should call them more often. I think about calling a lot, but I’m so fucking down all the time I feel like talking to me will just make her feel worse.

Sometimes I suck.

What can you do when you know who you wanna be isn’t perfect?⁴

What does it mean to accomplish something? I’m not working much right now. On my days off I’ve been studying the culture and lore of the ancient Celts and of modern witches, learning to read tarot cards, speak Welsh and do crochet, reading multiple novels, working on writing my own fiction (including but not limited to finishing my screenplay), and keeping multiple journals on several different topics. Oh, and thinking of stuff to post on here.

Yet if someone asked me what I did on my days off, I would shrug and say “nothing.”

What if, just for a little while, I do things simply because I like them, and not as a means to some kind of end?

Would I still be accomplishing anything?

I’m pretty sure I’m worthless if I can’t be of service⁵

Have I done enough to justify taking it easy for a little while?

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1. The tornado hitting my house in Louisiana is a source of dark amusement for many, including myself, because I left Kansas, where tornadoes are a regular occurrence, and managed to get hit by one in Louisiana, where tornadoes are rare. The irony has been noted by many people on many occasions. ↩︎
2. I was actually pregnant with said baby when the tornado hit. The universe is really big on upping the drama in my life ↩︎
3. Said by Colonel Something-or-Other in At Bertram’s Hotel by Agatha Christie. I’m not looking up all the information I would need to write out the full, correct citation. I’ve provided plenty of information to identify the source. ↩︎
4. “What Else Can I Do?” Encanto soundtrack. All rights owned by Disney Corporation and all that other legal shit you need to know so they don’t sue me ↩︎
5. “Surface Pressure” Encanto soundtrack. Disney. Blah blah blah ↩︎