The First Fall After College

Words by Abby Diskin

Already, the gradually fading leaves signaled a change. September would be the first month in four years I wouldn’t be registering for classes. My bank account held a mere $50, and October’s rent was looming. Jobless, I was an observer, watching my life pass me by. At a time when I most wanted to be independent, I couldn’t be.

I had my heart set on moving to New Mexico. I imagined the Southwest as a place brimming with inspiration just waiting to be gathered and molded into art and poetry. I dreamt of hiking in the desert to study rock formations and petroglyphs, pausing to peer at a sky so expansive that I would feel like a grain of sand.

I got close to going, but things took a different turn.

Sitting on my bed, I dialed my Dad’s number and asked if I could move in. “Only for two months,” I promised, praying that would be true. “I just need to save some money until I figure out what I’m doing.” After I got off the phone, I sat in disbelief. What the hell am I doing with my life? Would I ever leave Eugene? All I wanted to do was crawl back in bed and sleep through the afternoon so I didn’t have to think anymore.

For the following three months, I walked circles through a maze without a map, playing an exhausting game of “search and apply”. Each time I sent a cover letter, my hopes would swell and drop after hearing nothing. One afternoon, I called Mountain Rose Herbs to follow-up on my application, and the woman on the other line informed me that I was one of 300 people who had applied for the same customer service job. I pouted for the rest of the day, even though it didn’t make me feel any better.

The last time I lived with my dad I was fifteen.

Balancing an overstuffed box, I nudged the guest room door open with my shoulder.  I breathed in the stale air and worried if I could feel at home here. That night, I strung white Christmas lights around the room and placed a vase of turkey feathers in the bathroom, trying to create familiarity.

One night, returning from a day of job-searching in Eugene,  Dad was where he usually was after dinner, relaxing on the couch watching football. I lingered for another ten minutes or so, just to be near. I tried to become interested in the football game but to little avail. “Maybe tomorrow we could make dinner together,” I suggested. “Sure, that would be fun; I’ll look forward to it,” he replied with one eye on the screen.

My alarm clock went off and I crawled out of bed. Still groggy, I fumbled with the laces on my hiking boots.  The sun was still below the hill outside my window. My Dad had been up for an hour; I could hear him whistling as he got ready for work. Yesterday, he showed me his favorite walk, in an attempt to cheer me up. It was fun chatting and exploring the creek that winds near the bottom of his road together. That winter, walking kept me sane.  It gave me a reason to wake up and keep trying. The air was crisp as I started down the hill. Our neighbor’s cows looked like a mirage, the way the fog swirled around them. Nothing mattered that morning but keeping my feet moving and my arms swinging.

I had applied to write for a jewelry company in Albuquerque. I put so much energy into fantasizing about life in New Mexico, that when I received an e-mail saying I had made it to the second round of applicants, I felt like everything was falling into place. I waited to hear something for another three weeks, anticipating they would give me an interview.  Finally I received a letter in the mail saying that they had chosen another candidate.

My Dad tried to comfort me by telling stories of all the odd jobs he’s had. “Sometimes you have to throw a lot of mud at the wall before some sticks,” he said, reassuring me. “I know something good will come your way.” I nodded, wiping the tears that had gathered under my chin. “Thanks, Dad.”

That was one of the rare nights we sat at the kitchen table together. It was nice to have the T.V. off for a while.

Despite feeling lost after I didn’t get the job, I found a new way to keep me centered: hula hooping. I enrolled in a six-week class at the World Currency Community Center downtown.

The hoop rolls across my hips and lower back as I rock forward and back to the beat. A sparkly scarf covers my eyes – I am learning to sense the hoop’s motion with my body. As it nears my right hip I grab it from behind my back and twirl it above my head, then guide it back down along my ribs. I feel my cheeks lift into a smile, and then I do the move again. My limbs and torso move in unison; I am dancing in the center of my spinning hoop.

After hoop class, I’d collapse in bed, savoring the endorphins from the exercise. Some nights I would gaze at the ceiling before drifting to sleep. The lamp became a meditative image for me. I’d close my eyes and feel its warm glow. On nights when worries about unemployment and my future taunted me, I’d let my mind drift, resting from its full time job as problem solver.  Gradually, I felt myself adjusting; I felt at home for the first time in months.

It was not a coincidence that once one area of my life started to feel more settled, I was offered a job at the UO School of Journalism and Communication. It was a temporary position, lasting two months, but it bolstered my confidence and nudged me to trust that something was unfolding in my life. About two weeks before that job ended, I received a phone call from a woman who had seen my resume posted online.  She told me she thought I would be a perfect fit for a position in communications at a software company, called Symantec. At first I was skeptical, but after she set me up for an interview at the office in Springfield, I realized she was serious. My first interview was challenging and invigorating, both signs that the job would fit my desire to learn new skills and grow professionally. Despite having no previous experience as a Communication Specialist, I was offered the position. This all happened within two week’s time.

I drop my purse against the wall and slip off my shoes. Hoop in hand, I take my place in the center of the room. My teacher turns on the music and we start our warm up: hooping with our shoulders. We move across the room with our hoops in motion; I laugh, catching myself in the mirror with a serious expression on my face. Relax. I breathe out. I close my eyes and let the hoop flow as an extension of me. I dance on my tippy toes and then get low to the ground; in this moment, I let go of future and past; there is only this song and my hoop completing a circle again and again around my torso.

After three months, my position at Symantec became fulltime, granting me financial stability. I was finally able to move into my own place.

Who knows where the path will lead me from here. I have learned that the less I let my fears take over, the more room I allow myself to explore, experience and trust the journey.  Although I am not in New Mexico, I know I will get there someday. All things happen in their right time.