The two-year anniversary of the layoff is on the horizon, and I still don’t have a so-called real job. I’m still bumping along from interview to interview and project to project. But somehow the bills are getting paid and I’m not popping awake at night in fear. And I’m stronger for having faced my demons: I’ve had to become more flexible and adaptable, more accepting of each day as it comes.

These days, I’m no longer thinking about a job as a sort of garment to put on every morning so I can face the world. Now I see that my real work is much more about who I am, wherever I am, whoever I’m with, than what I do from nine to five. I remember to count among my important work all the help I give to newcomers in my peer-support group. I look for opportunities to smile and say an extra — kind hello — to the gas station attendant, the grocery store clerk, the neighbour passing by.

I’ve (mostly) stopped yelling at God to serve up my right work as if he were a slow waiter and I a demanding customer. Sure, I sometimes still long for clarity — a solid, clear sense of obvious purpose and mission that the world values, or at least a regular routine that I don’t have to create on my own. But the angst of the last few months is mostly gone, leaving behind a gift: I have become more patient, more sensitive and kind, to others and to myself. And I have come to understand that if I focus on making a life, living takes care of itself. — Beliefnet.com (Concluded)