Except it has.
Immediately after my last post, I was told my job was being eliminated from an organization I'd worked with in some form for nearly my whole career. And that same day, a close friend called, needing help to navigate a serious family crisis that required every ounce of my focus and attention. And two days later I was going to be driving halfway across the country with a friend and her 4-year old son.
Like I said, lots to write about, and that was just three days later.
I spent the last four years working as the interim executive director rebuilding an organization that had collapsed under the weight of their crisis. It was the hardest thing I've ever done and by far my best professional work to date. So many things to say and nothing on paper, so maybe it didn't really all happen.
My last day was this past June 30 and it could not have been more anticlimactic. That sentiment was short-lived.
I spent the last two months not working, and not worrying about not working or finding the next job. It was liberating. I read. I wrote (but not here), I spent time with friends I hadn't seen in years. I finally went through my file cabinet and got rid of my notes from three years of Russian. I found the shady places at the beach. I rejoined the YMCA (and went). I signed up for community programs. I didn't watch daytime television but I did spend an entire day one weekend watching Fast and Furious 1-5. (Note to anyone who hasn't seen these yet: don't bother with 2 and 3.)
And now I'm looking for a job for the first time in nearly 25 years. I updated my LinkedIn profile, put together a decent resume, and am learning to ask for help.