If you’ve ever seen the 2006 biopic The Pursuit of Happyness, you know what I’m talking about.
In the movie, Will Smith plays Chris Gardner, a medical equipment salesman and single father struggling to make ends meet in 1980s-era San Francisco. He even ends up homeless for a while, racing home after work each day to his son’s day care, in hopes of securing them a spot in one of the city’s homeless shelters for the night.
The movie’s heart-tugging moments always get me — especially the scene in which Gardner shows up for a job interview at a brokerage firm in a paint-splattered jacket and white undershirt; asked what he’d say if someone got hired after showing up without a shirt on, Gardner replies, “he must have had on some really nice pants.”
Since the first time I saw it, what has stuck with me are the moments when Smith narrates each “chapter” of Gardner’s story, punctuating the movie with words that become familiar as the scenes roll on:
“This part of my life is called… running.”
“This part of my life is called… intern.”
“This part of my life is called… happiness.”
Gardner never knows when a new chapter in his life is about to start; events overtake him, sometimes overwhelming him. He’s simply forced to adapt and adjust, and it only becomes clear later that his life is different from what it was before.
You may remember back in January, I shared with you that I’d been laid off from my day job. (As much as I’d love for this newsletter to be my day job, the financial realities of life in 21st-century America say that can’t be the case.)
But things happen. Companies merge and go through changes, hiring a lot at times and then… the opposite. The latter is the circumstance I found myself in, when I got the word my job would be ending.
I was prepared — in my mind, at least — for a long winter of job searching. I had no idea how long it might take, but I knew from talking with people I’d worked with in the past that I was starting a process that might take time. A long time, in fact.
Most of my inquiries about potential jobs led nowhere, a common story for anyone looking right now. But, just like when you go fishing you never know when you’ll feel a bite on the end of your line, in February I received an offer after only a few weeks of looking.
There was just one catch: this company would soon be returning to five days a week in the office. I’d worked from home since March of 2020; I didn’t realize until yesterday that’s been a full six years — almost half my 12-year-old son’s life.
Yes, in my old job I worked a couple of days a week in the office. But going in so seldom made in-office days feel like the exception, not the norm.
Now, I’m up and at ‘em by six in the morning every day; showering and dressing in business casual (whatever that means!) and taking the train into downtown Atlanta. It’s a big change.
Instead of interacting with the world mainly through screens, now I’m a body in the world again. I see, interact with, walk past and work with dozens of people every day. People on the train platform, people in the hotels and shops I walk through and past to get to my office… people quite literally everywhere.
It’s easy to forget this when you work from home. Sure, you see your friends on the weekends, people you know from your child’s activities. But that’s for few short hours. Most of the time, it’s just you and your laptop. You don’t realize how much being away from the world has changed you.
Now, all kinds of new stimuli are coming at me. On the train into work, unhoused people sit a few seats away. (Many when it’s cold, in fact.) When I get to my station, there are convention-goers and corporate travelers, from high-school students all the way up to middle-aged road warriors.
When I walk in the office, I’m meeting an entirely new (to me) group of people. It’s not unlike being a kid and going to a new school, you know? You’re unsure of how it will go… will they like me? Will they welcome me, or give me the cold shoulder?
(I’m happy to report the opposite, by the way — everyone has been incredibly welcoming in the new job, making me feel at home.)
And that makes me realize something else: how lucky I’ve been. A lot of people I know who are job searching right now are seeing only curveballs in the dirt. But when it was my turn to stand in the batter’s box, I got a fastball right over the heart of the plate.
Now, I know my story isn’t in the same league as Chris Gardner’s. Nothing nearly as dramatic has happened to me. But I relate to what he shares with us, describing how one chapter of his life ended abruptly and not knowing when or how the next might begin.
You don’t know how long you’ll have to stay in the air without a net below. You don’t know whether, or how, things might work out. You just go day by day, because that’s the only option.
I hope I can make the most of this new chapter in my own life like Gardner did in his — not nearly as big, of course! But I’m very aware that opportunities for a completely fresh start don’t come along all that often once you reach the age I am (55).
(My wife tells me I worry too much about the age thing, and not to focus on it — which I’m trying to do! You never completely forget it, though.)
Have you ever contemplated, or undertaken, a completely fresh start in your own life? How did it go? Are you doing it now?
I’d love to hear your story. And, as always, keep in touch and let me know how your running/life is going.
Your friend,
— Terrell