The most cliché substack start . . . ever

If there's one thing to drive you, it's a major life change. Right?

And then it all falls apart

"When God closes a door, he opens a window" is one of those trite sayings that's easy to casually toss into the ether when things are going well. It's harder to accept when you're the one staring at the wood grain of the door inches from your nose.

Yesterday, after dropping my boys off at preschool, I returned to my truck to see a missed call from my boss. I called him back on the way home, assuming it was about a project we were working on or some upcoming meeting. It wasn't. I was laid off.

Although I was surprised in the moment, it shouldn't have been entirely unexpected. Layoffs are a constant danger of working at a startup in an unstable environment. Payroll and budgets are a continual stressor in a small company, and I hope that cutting me loose is the thing that allows them to grow and succeed in the marketplace. I'm proud of the things we accomplished while I was there, but sometimes the luck just doesn't cut your way.

I get the decision rationally and yet still have the emotional reaction of feeling the rug pulled out from under me. The panic from being jobless for the first time in my adult life is real. My husband and I both work hard. In our marriage, we do our best to be equal partners (in that I try hard to pull my weight while married to a guy who does well professionally AND is more organized and domestic than I.) So, although part of the reason a family exists is to build redundancies and support one another when we fall, I still feel the sting of failure.

Close friends have all been unfailingly supportive and kind. I've been getting 48 hours of texts like, "this is for the best," and "you're so talented, this will just seem like a blip to you a year from now." Calls and offers for drinks, requests for my resume, and people just “checking in” abound. I'm sure they're all correct, but this is a hard push into the next step. My best friend and I often joke that God must use proverbial 2x4s to get our attention. Ok, ok. "Are you there, God? It's me, Kelly."

My identity as a full-time professional working Mom with a tiny urban farm who does crazy stuff and likes to share it all over the internet feels at risk. The life I have built was all laid on the platform of a full-time job. Before the kids are awake, I get up early in the morning to milk the goats, feed the chickens, and water the plants. But, after that, I log into Slack and Zoom, which pays for my portion of the goat grain and the garden, the truck, the mortgage, and the childcare. So, here I sit, wondering if I'll have to cut so deep as to start selling all the animals who are not pulling their weight after I cancel the Disney+ and the Netflix and everything else I can quickly slash to reduce budgets.

It's not dire. We're conservative financially, and there is fluff in the budget. My husband sweetly reminded me as I sat on the bed last night, vacillating between fear and sadness, that we are partners, his job is going well, and I haven't even started to look yet. We will be fine. It's still scary, though. Job loss makes me feel unmoored, and no matter how many times I try to look on the bright side, it's a painful way to grow - but I will grow.

I'm about to start pounding the pavement to find contracts for writing gigs, political PR work, social media management, and content creation in the short run. Also, it's time to start looking for a long-term gig. I'm grateful this happened now and not a few months from now. The market is good, and I know I bring a lot to the table.

Next?

Times like these require us to ask ourselves the painful questions about how we're spending our finite time. After sleep, our work is a large piece of the temporal pie.

For me, this layoff can be a productively galvanizing experience if I make it. I want to take a few beats to figure out what work looks like in an aspirational way rather than just a reactionary one. From a work standpoint, I have spent most of the last two decades in reaction mode. The next election, project, policy on the ballot or in committee is forefront - and I don't even know if that's what I want to do anymore. Living in constant fight or flight mode in a place as toxic as politics has worn a divot into my soul.

One of my frustrations over the last several months is deep guilt I felt when writing and posting about "fun" things. Work has been getting more stressful, and as the thing that pays the mortgage, it always took priority in the hierarchy. Why would I post on my RealBestLife "fun" Instagram page when I should be doing it for work? Why would I write on my blog when I should be writing for work? When people asked me how my farm and my crazy challenge was going, I would lament, "Between the kids and farm and the job and the actual doing of the challenge, I'm fine, but I'm not writing or sharing as much as I want. Just doing the things completely fills my days. I have no space to write or share about them, too."

Now, for better or worse, I have a little space to pick back up the "fun" projects that alight my soul. I guess it's time, while I figure out what's next, to find out if I can make a real go at the things I want to write and create. It won't get me back to where I was right away, but I don't want to regret not trying for fear of rejection. I have begun several streams over the years in fits and starts, and they are all *right on the edge* of being able to pay me, yet none has quite yet. "Real work" always came first.

I have a YouTube channel - with the requisite 1,000 followers (thanks to my girlfriends' amazing support) - and am closer to the 4,000 hours to monetize than ever before. I even have videos shot that I never edited - because video editing takes a lot of time, and I was working. I can start posting again - and I will. Hopefully today!

I have a blog that is already covering the cost of its own hosting with ad revenue, which I understand is a feat in and of itself. It's *SO CLOSE* to getting the kind of traffic that can generate revenue.

The book proposal to dig into the crazy challenge of living off the farm for a year (oh, yeah, did I mention that?!?!) is written. The challenge is done and I am a different person in body and mind now. The proposal has just been languishing on my virtual desktop while I focused on my job. It's time. I'm jumping. Here's me, jumping.

So, here I sit, starting a Substack, too. I wish I had started it a year ago or more, and built a list slowly while going through the entire challenge. I wish I had started with a free newsletter and then slowly added a paid version. But, every morning I woke up and first did and prioritized the things that paid me. That's just what we do in a world with limited time.

I'm not sure how this will work just yet. I am creating a paid version because if I have actual people to whom I am accountable to provide content, I will make the content. When this is no longer just the "fun" thing but a part of what helps me do my part in our family to make ends meet, I will do it by God.

Also, I promise it will be worth it if you join me for this journey. There will be lots of goats and tomatoes and zucchini. I have failures and hilarity, but also the most stunning successes and weirdest stories. Maybe, someday, I can make this my real job. I can take all these things and sew them together into an entire career, and it can just be the thing that I do. That would be super cool.

One of the biggest challenges for me is asking for help. There's something about being a strong, independent woman who feels weak at the prospect. But. I am going to set that aside for now. Please consider subscribing to the Substack. If you're in a position to support me with a paid membership, that would mean a lot to me. I will try to make the content that helps to remind you of the exact thing it reminds me of all the time - life is basically magic.