I am missing the little life. The little life I knew almost twenty years ago when I worked at a dead end job for a paycheck that covered my rent and bills and food and lattes and wine with something left over at the end of the month, but hardly enough to be making investment plans with.
I was intelligent and highly educated but somehow gave myself permission to work in a toy shop. After a couple of years of mental illness, I had learned to go easier on myself. I had no real friends but I enjoyed the community of people on the bus and in coffee shops as well as my coworkers. At the end of my shift, I would ride home on the bus with aching feet and a tired body and look forward to a few hours of TV and wine before going to bed. My days off were about bus riding and coffee drinking and shopping and coming home to watch more TV and drink wine. After a year, I got a kitten and enjoyed her company.
But as the years went on, the world got busier and customers got more demanding and bosses got more desperate to please and retail work became less fun. And rents went up and I needed a better job to continue to afford my apartment. And I started using my brain again and studying data science and coding and database development. And I ended up in a better job that pays a whole lot better and is much more aligned with my level of intelligence and education. And I am glad this happened because I have been able to work at home during the Covid-19 pandemic.
But I really miss that little life. I did not have goals. I did not make plans. I just lived as a little person from one day to the next. And I woke each morning wondering what the day would bring — instead of wishing I had not woken up.
I also miss that little person. She is very dear to me.