Routine and purpose

At this point, I am still unemployed. It is a strange feeling. Or I should say, the feelings are strange because they chop and they change, they ebb and flow. There are moments when I feel grateful for the freedom, resolute that I will make every unemployed minute count, that these will be moments I will one day look back on and both treasure and kick myself for not enjoying even more. There are moments when I feel hollow, that my life is devoid of purpose, and I wonder how I’ll ever re-build a successful career. I doubt myself, my abilities, my previous experience. Occasionally there are moments when I feel terrified - terrified at the prospect of never being employed again, or running out of money, but then I remember that Phil is fortunately employed and I have wonderful family who are looking after us for the time being. I have moments of feeling immensely guilty too. Guilty that Phil is stuck behind his laptop screen working his just-for-the-meantime New Zealand job while all of those colleagues are sleeping; that I am now a kept woman, out gallivanting and worsening the blisters on my heels by stomping round London for hours on end in my sturdy black boots, while Phil tap tap taps away.

I have moments of thinking that I should become a fulltime writer. Make a go of it for once and for all. But the truth is, I think my brain needs a little more sustenance than rambling on about food. And there is only so much one can say about sausages. But perhaps I need to think more about this as a genuine prospect. I’ve um-ed and ah-ed about putting my money where my mouth is and getting a job in a wine bar, but again, there is that part of my brain that feels it would never be fully sated. And I figure I am better to put energy into finding a job in a local authority or some other very fulfilling place (I know you’re laughing) than I am into pouring glasses of wine for obnoxious people to drink.

There have been one or two moments where I have contemplated booking myself a flight home. Only one or two. And those contemplative moments are fleeting. I make them pass by opening the Notes app on my phone or Google Maps to remind myself of the long-as-a-lifetime list of places I want to visit and eat at in London. I know this is counter-intuitive when I have feared running out of money.

My days are busy and fulfilling though. I apply for jobs. I am mastering the art of writing supporting statements and talking about times I have led changes to service delivery with transformative and innovative approaches that have taken an inclusive approach to involving a wide range of stakeholders. I could trot out lines about my experience with the full suite of Microsoft 365 products and my strong verbal and written communication skills in my sleep. I am exploring parts of London that I am sure I will seldom see once I am desk and office bound. Just today I walked from Tower Bridge to Borough Market, along the river to the Southbank Centre, to Waterloo Station and then through the streets of Shoreditch and Bethnal Green as we started contemplating where we might like to live. I am finding relatively inexpensive places (by London standards) to eat and build a small community, like Marie’s, the little caff behind Waterloo Station that I went to today that serves both fry ups and typical Thai restaurant dishes. It was great. I am walking for miles. The growing size of the blisters and scars on my feet are my analogue version of step counting. And I am cooking for dear Phil - my bread winner - and my wonderful London family.

Cooking dinner and breaking bread with my London family is the one thing that feels constant right now. A routine. And it’s strange how comforting and important routine becomes when your life lacks the routine of paid work. Each afternoon I walk through Gladstone Park in North London to Sainsbury’s to pick up a few bits and pieces for dinner, working out on my way what exactly it is that I’m going to cook. It’s a 40 minute trot, there and back. Each time I walk I curse myself for not yet having bought one of those trolley bags on wheels, which I’ve always wanted, and which Phil insists are ridiculous. I usually wax and wane over what to cook for dinner. Tonight I set off with the intention of making Alison Roman’s chicken tikka masala, as I passed the playground I was thinking about garlicky chicken satay with an Asian slaw, and by the time I was near the supermarket I was settled on tikka masala, and buying a bag of mini poppadoms to have with it. I take my time at Sainsbury’s - taking in where everything is, taking in the mostly unfamiliar products on the shelves. I usually start cooking dinner a little before 5pm. We eat just before 7pm. Others are early to bed and early to rise. I chat to my dear cousin Tom while I cook - he tells me about his day and what he had for lunch at school (a chicken pasta that was nothing special today). He tells me about his Physics teacher who showed up late to class and forgot to bring copies of the test everyone had to do. Sometimes I nibble on wasabi coated peanuts or cheese and crackers while I cook. Tom likes cheese and crackers too. I am not drinking as much since I’ve been back from Italy. I feel healthier. I like that as I’m cooking, messages and notifications from home come in, as everyone is waking for the day ahead. Cooking takes me a while because there are distractions. Good ones.

As we eat dinner, my Uncle regales us with stories about the characters he works with at the local authority (they’re all referred to by their first name and last) and my Aunty tells us about funny things her small school children have said and done throughout the day. I like that everyone here appreciates the cooking. Not just the fact of the cooking having been done, but what I actually cook and the fun for my family of having different things for dinner to what they’d usually cook. And of course, when you’re unemployed you have time to make curries from scratch and roll enchiladas and chop guacamole by hand. I like that I can provide everyone with a little midweek treat of sorts. I like that now I get to do that for Phil too. It’s not just my way of thanking people and showing them that I am grateful; for me it has become a purpose, albeit a small one. And if there’s one thing I’ve learnt through this strange period of my life, it’s that you have to find purpose to keep yourself happy and motivated. It is no great surprise to me that feeding others is the thing that I’ve found gives me a real sense of purpose. I know others would seek a different purpose or a different routine, and that’s fine. But I am grateful for cooking.

I just need to find ways to break one small part of the routine - Phillip doing the dishes. He always insists on doing the dishes. It’s his special talent and the reason, I’m sure, why he earnt the description of “very helpful” in the birthday card young Tom wrote for him. Surely the kept woman should be the one doing the dishes. Which is not to say I subscribe to gender stereotypes. Fuck, far from it. But it’s these small routines and small contributions you can make to other people’s lives that make you feel like you do have something to contribute while you wait for someone to agree that you are a collaborative team player who can use their initiative to drive projects that connect to strategic outcomes and deliver efficiencies.

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Tonight for dinner we had Alison Roman’s chicken tikka masala with rice, homemade raita, green beans, mini poppadoms and mini naan breads I found at the supermarket that I was quite taken by. If it weren’t for supporting statements taking hours to write (there are 7000 character limits to stick with and 700 criteria - many of which are repeated - to demonstrate compliance with!) there would of course be time for making naan bread too. Bloody councils, always ruining the fun!!!