Araz Gholami

Writing, for me, carries a key message beyond all its other benefits: that I am making progress—mentally and intellectually. If at any point in my life I cannot write, it means my thoughts haven’t progressed. That phase was like my last year at my previous company. Mental chaos, fatigue, and lack of motivation were the results. The addiction to the monthly paycheck and the gradual forgetting of the freedom I once had may have pleased my conscious mind, but my subconscious resisted with all its might, leaving me no choice but to leave that safe point.

Was my inner parent silent? Not at all. Just as anyone considering leaving their job now (if you have one) would feel their whole body shake, I also experienced severe panic in those last days. In the current situation—origin country, successive layoffs in foreign companies, global economic instability, previous rejections—walking away from a job you should be clinging to was far from easy.

Am I not afraid? I am. Terribly afraid. Because my brain’s background cannot accept that not having a job doesn’t necessarily mean misery, like it might have ten years ago. For thirty years, I’ve always worked toward some future or goal—studies, university, military service, migration, career, home, etc. Now, after thirty years, I want to do nothing, pursue nothing, and I have no idea where to start.

What am I doing these days? Reading, practicing, and rebuilding the knowledge I need for my work.

What’s my plan? Doing nothing as much as possible. If I can. If not, continuing to apply for better job opportunities.