Turns Out, Getting Fired Is a Great Muse
Following the Universe's Breadcrumbs
Sometimes, losing your job isn’t an end—it’s the universe shoving you toward a beginning. This isn’t about my job, though; it’s about what happened before and since I got fired.
Earlier this year, I was thinking about what I felt would bring me joy, and recalled childhood memories of sitting in my room reading, writing, and getting creative with my hands (sculpting, painting, cooking, etc.).
Like the rest of us, I was taught that those things rarely brought financial security, and were best left as hobbies. ‘True pursuits’ were ones that followed the times - business, economics, law, medicine, etc.
So, I did as my elders advised, and followed the predetermined path.
The Burn Out
As time went on, the weight of living a life that didn’t fulfil me grew heavy, until I found myself trying to create reasons to be excited about work. If you have to spend eight hours a day and five times a week doing one thing, you try your damnedest to make it feel worth it.
I’ve always had the great fortune of falling into a work collective of wonderful people, and have many close friends today that started off as colleagues. However, aside from this emotional fulfilment, most of the time I was battling my own boredom when trying to get work done. Creativity in white-collar jobs often feels like fitting a wild idea into a neat, branded box. It’s a constrained kind of invention, focused on data, ROIs, and the like.
So, my 9-to-5 began to feel like a slow death. Evenings weren’t an escape—they were consumed by chores, errands, and the never-ending quest for ‘self-care.’ Thus, my motivation was reduced to covering bills and building a résumé.
That is, until February this year, when the first nudge from fate gently knocked on my door.
The Spark
On a random cold and dreary Tuesday, I was watching Neil Gaiman’s Masterclass, The Art of Storytelling, and was spellbound. This pipeline, naturally, continued into Sanderson’s lectures on Writing Science Fiction and Fantasy and spread to others.
Ideas began forming in my head, and before I knew it, I had an idea for an epic fantasy trilogy. I had the story down, done the world building, built the character profiles, mapped out the hero’s journey, devised the plot twists, etc., but when it came to writing, my words always fell short. Try as I might to weave the storyline into being, I simply didn’t have a knack for it.
In parallel, I kept getting signs that I was on the right track - synchronicities and constant reminders that whatever thread of fate I had touched was vibrating in confirmation. Of course, we aren’t all believers in these sorts of things, but I am, and this is my story, therefore this tale calls for temporary belief.
Life offered its usual twists and turns, and soon I was swept away to things that needed my immediate attention (like where the hell I was going to live, what needed to get done, etc.). Writing was set aside to be returned to at a later date, but each time I tried getting back into it, something else would come up.
Finally, in the late summer, I simply conceded that maybe I was hallucinating the entire call of fate, or that I simply had a good idea but lacked the skills to follow it through (at least, for now).
The Plot Twist
Fast forward to early October, about a month before my boss and I had ‘the talk’. I was sitting around my house, scrolling on instagram, when a new post from a profile I love, Madame Saturnus, popped up. She creates talismans that work based on the principles of astrology, and she had just announced that she was making talisman necklaces.
I immediately placed my order, and when asked what I wanted the intention of the necklace to be, I said “I want to find my purpose in life. I want to find my path, where I contribute to the world and feel fulfilled.”
Two weeks later, the necklace arrived.
The moment I hung it around my neck, something shifted. I suddenly had the urge to write. The urge, however, wasn’t calling me to my book idea. Rather, it was calling me to share my thoughts.
I had never been the type to vocalize my opinion on platforms, simply because, if anyone wanted my take, they could ask. Why would I bother people with my two cents on anything? This time, however, the call of fate insisted I share, and brought me to Substack.
I stared at the blinking insertion point on the vast white of my screen, and began to type. The contrast between the struggle of writing the books and the effortlessness that came to me now was stark. Before I knew it, an hour and a half had passed and I had written 1,500 words.
It didn’t make sense to me. How was I, an avid fantasy fan, struggling to write something I was familiar with, but suddenly had no problem stringing my words together when it came to anecdotal nonfiction (of which I was never a fan)?
I remember watching an interview with Mark Manson, where he discussed how much he enjoys reading fiction, but is simply a nonfiction writer through and through. I must (shamefully) admit, I was never much of a fan of nonfiction, but perhaps my path had just revealed itself to be similar to Manson’s.
I decided to post what I had written, since, well, what was the point of having the impulse if not to follow it? I had originally planned on committing to writing at least one piece per month, regardless of my schedule. The reality is that I was hooked, like a crackhead to a pipe. The geyser of thoughts kept spewing out new ideas, and today I have over 50 topics noted down and waiting to be written.
The Blessing in Disguise
Fata viam invenient - The Fates will find a way
Now, back to my getting fired. Since the love of writing revealed itself, the difference between how I felt at work and how I felt while writing was suffocating. I was wrapped in the panicked feeling that I was losing precious time doing the wrong things, and my life was being wasted away.
When my former boss told me I was being let go, my first feeling was, of course, one of panic. Most of us are in the same boat - little savings due to rising costs, and the job market being incredibly ruthless. Now, I suddenly had to figure out how to survive.
The next feeling that came over me was immense relief. I felt like those characters in movies, the ones cornered at the edge of a building roof, that smile, spread their arms wide, close their eyes, and fall back. I was suddenly free to do what I wanted to do the most - write.
The Key
I decided, then and there, to try.
I have set aside the next couple of months to focus on my writing, and see where the path takes me. I still have bouts of panic here and there, but since the old way of working was killing me (at least figuratively, for now) why wouldn’t I try dedicating myself to what has been calling my name?
The synchronicities returned as well. The same message in different forms, yelling at me to have faith and follow the white rabbit down this tunnel. I continued releasing posts on a weekly basis, and my heart and mind have remained there since.
I can always go back to the dreary world of the 9-5, but if I choose to not even try following this thread of hope, then I’ve already dug my own grave.
I hold a potential key to my own happiness, which is a treasure we all search for, and few find.
So let’s try the lock.
Fata viam invenient - The Fates will find a way
How's it been going since you wrote this? :)
Except on a pire, or at the top end of a rocket…