It was a typical morning. Ok I’ll drive Hannah to the bus stop, eat breakfast, go to work and…the universe pipes up “Aaaaand let me stop you right there.”
I was displaced from my job on October 1.
Hmm, displaced sounds a lot like misplaced, I mused. I looked them both up.
Displaced: forced to leave your home, typically because of war, persecution, or natural disaster.
I laughed to myself. Well my management was a disaster.
Misplaced: incorrectly positioned or temporarily lost.
Well. I definitely felt misplaced.
My job was not the greatest job, but it definitely wasn’t the worst. I worked with some great people and a couple of awful people. Most days I thought I was probably supposed to be doing something else, but I had it pretty good. So I just hung out. For 8 years.
Lately, I’d begun to feel the urge to either punch someone or run away on a daily basis. We had the worst management I’d ever seen. The inmates were running the asylum. And Nurse Ratched was nowhere to be found.
Still. It stings to be laid off. Your ride on the roller coaster begins. You ride up the hills of hope and down to the depths of despair several times a day. You go from wanting to cuss someone out to wishing you were with your friends again. You go from wishing you’d said nothing to wishing you’d said so much more.
I’d upset the apple cart on more than one occasion by asking questions and making suggestions. And for this, I was labeled a troublemaker. But in an effort to always grow toward the sun, I felt that communication was the way to keep morale up and misunderstandings at bay. Helpful hint: when your boss says call or stop by his office with aaaaany concerns, he actually means keep your big trap shut.
So after many “Things happen for a reason” days and several “Something better is around the corner” weeks, I feel fine about it. Maybe I was DISPLACED from being MISPLACED. Because I was not meant to be there. My place is yet to be found.