A few weeks ago, my mom had been in the hospital for several days, so I flew to Surprise, Arizona, to stay with my 95-year-old dad. My parents live in a wonderful retirement community. Their apartment is small—one bedroom, one-and-a-half baths, a cozy little patio, and just enough room for my dad's books and all of my mom's holiday decorations. It's a constant negotiation. I slept on the sofa bed in the living room. Before going to bed that night, I turned off the lights around 11:30. I never even checked to see if the front door was locked. In their community, neighbors stop by, doors are often open during the day, and it simply felt...safe. The next morning, I was sitting on their little patio enjoying a cup of coffee before Dad woke up and our day began. Suddenly I heard him call from inside the apartment. "Kris... Mom's home." I froze. Home? How was that possible? She couldn't drive. She didn't even have the car. Why would the hospital release her ...
Last weekend we went wine tasting at a winery where we've been members for years. Or...were members. One of the first things we've done since I lost my job is pause the extras. Wine clubs, subscriptions, little luxuries. They're wonderful when life is steady. Right now, they can wait. While we were tasting, the gentleman pouring our wine asked the question everyone asks when they're making small talk. "So, what do you do?" Without even thinking, I answered with my old job. The words came out before my brain had a chance to catch them. The minute he walked away I thought, *Why did I say that?* The answer surprised me. Because I don't know what to say now. I'm no longer the title I've carried for years. I'm not ready to introduce myself as "unemployed." And "I'm looking for my next opportunity" somehow feels like an explanation instead of an introduction. It's strange how much of our identity gets wrapped up in our wor...