Here are a few questions I’ve been mulling over in these COVID days:
1. How many people realize Shai’s “If I Ever Fall In Love” is not their best song (or their only song, for that matter)?
2. Is it considered “black face” if I knowingly wear darker foundation to cut the “milk” in my “chocolate”?
3. Can I still call myself an introvert if I’m now reconsidering how much I enjoy being alone?
4. How slummy of a person am I if, despite being fully aware of and sympathetic toward the millions of families who are suffering financially during this pandemic, I am pissed that my unemployment stretch lasted only three weeks?
Go along with the rhetoric for a bit…
In early May, I received my final hardship payment from studio. I was lined up to do a show for Netflix before Corona kick-doe’d 2020. Those “sorry-you-never-got-to-start-the-gig” checks were an unexpected gesture and a nice top off on what I was able to bag from a five-turned-seven week consultancy from the month before. I was in an incredible place money-wise, granting me security and confidence that I could survive this pandemic without working for a while. So much so that applying for unemployment was nearly optional.
I was not struggling. But, dammit, I wanted to join in!
On a Sunday afternoon, with a bubbling excitement (slightly backlit by a smidge of guilt for being as excited as I was), I opened my laptop and browsed my way to the NY State Department of Labor website. Apprehension began to build. Not a “worried-where-my-next-meal-gone-come-from” feeling, but more like the nervousness you get just before you kiss a person you really like for the first time.
Here’s the thing. In my entire working life, I have never collected unemployment benefits. While I do take some pride in having had that privilege, I was eager for this new experience. I wanted to get that check, especially since annual tax refunds had become a thing of my distant past. I giggled a bit every time I eyed the progress status after clicking “Next” and proceeding to give more of my personal information. There was a moment, though, in which I had to check myself. After having to redo the application THREE TIMES, I felt maybe God was letting me know I shouldn’t have enjoyed qualifying for this handout as much as I did. But once I was notified that my application was approved, the sobering quickly subsided. I was officially counted in the roughly 5 million claims for unemployment for that week.
And I was oddly thrilled about it.
Let me be clear (in my Barack voice): I can understand that suddenly being forced to rely on government assistance is an act of desperation for many. To no longer have the ability to provide for yourself or your family because of “Spanish Flu – The Sequel” utterly sucks ass. I prayed (and still do) that families would find a way to sustain in this global shake up. And with a mighty “Amen” and a swift separation of my praying hands, I picked up my phone, told my family I’m coming home then rented an SUV for a 24+ hour road trip (flying was a HELL no) to spend my non-working days between browning in the Texas sun and napping on my momma’s couch. Freeloading on the government’s dime was a newfound aspiration, and I had high hopes.
But favor…
I’ve said this on countless occasions: I am overwhelming grateful to God for not only catching but elevating me as I’ve taken massive leaps in the last six years. There is no way to express how amazed I am by the opportunities and connections I’ve explored since I left Dallas in the winter of 2013. But when opportunity made its way to Desoto and found me laid up in my momma’s house, I side-eyed the fuck out of it.
I think you can guess how this goes.
My covid-cation ended there. I, after negotiating a rate worthy of getting my ass off the bench well before I got to warm it, accepted a short-term gig for which I was recommended by two former supervisors from my corporate days. (Tip: Do not burn bridges; just learn how to block those hoes sometimes.) With a soft whimper and tarried typing, I ended my short-lived fling with unemployment, as I checked “Yes” when the weekly certification survey asked, “Are you working now?”. Within the following two weeks, I packed up my bags, bid my family adieu and made another 24+ hour road trip back to Brooklyn so I could set up a home office. My pandemic plans deferred, just as the ones I had before it crept into the states and shut shit down.
I am still working. Moreover, new opportunities are still coming. Professionally. Creatively. Financially. (Not romantically, though… I’ll save that for the next post.) And this season of abundance amid lack and loss is not my own; my tribe is winning, too. A lot of my friends never lost their jobs. None of my friends have gotten infected. All of my friends are not only surviving but thriving in some way, shape or form. To my surprise, this is the fate of many. A lot of us are keeping the lights on. A lot of us are eating well. A lot of us are making time for the shit we didn’t have time to do pre-COVID. We are reflecting. We are growing. We are good, in spite of.
I’m not gonna lie; I was looking forward to being a bum for a bit. And though I’ve dedicated this entire post to sarcastically rant about advantage, I have absolutely no reason to complain.
We do always say favor ain’t fair. But when compared to the numerous lay-offs, evictions, foreclosures, defaults, hospitalizations and deaths we’ve seen since the start of the year, I’d say it’s the fairest thing we’ve seen in a long time