Toaster Tongs are The Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me
In 2015, Christoph and I had just relocated from New York City to a small, coastal city in South Florida. I had landed a job at a financial newsletter to float us during the transition, but I hated—and I mean hated it. Even writing this now, I feel nauseous just thinking about that place. It was sleazy, its business model was sleazy, and it was full of slimy crooks and liars.
I needed the paycheck, and I needed to feel the daily satisfaction of having a job, but as the weeks dragged on, I sunk into a very dark place. I could barely drag myself out of bed every morning.
Within just a few months, I was fired.
This meant I was living in a fresh city and unemployed and really, really scared.
Everywhere I looked, my friends were having children and buying houses and somehow growing up, and even though I had no interest in any of these (I love my selfish immaturity), I couldn’t shake a persistent feeling that I was my generation’s biggest loser. When you’re unemployed in America, it’s nearly impossible to see all the things you might have in your life that are spectacular and all the things you may have achieved that are decent.
How had I gone from having every stinkin’ privilege in the world to falling so flatly?
I was self-aware enough to know that it wasn’t just luck (I had made many naive, impulsive decisions in the past that sent my life spinning). But I wasn’t self-aware enough to know how to get out of my situation. Hundreds, and I do mean hundreds, of job applications were met with rejections, and the few interviews I managed to get were disastrous.
Then, at rock bottom, something changed.
It was two o’clock in the morning, and I was awake as usual with my restless, chronic insomnia. I stared numbly at my desk, all out of ideas and all out of hope. My arms tingled with needles which is, quite literally, an unnerving phenomenon that happens to me when I’m desperately upset. My chest raged. My ears rang.
But I was all out of anger, all out of hope, all out of tears. I was all out of anything at all.
All I could do was close my eyes.
I am not a religious person (no organized faith for me), but I am a deeply spiritual one. I summoned a faint prayer-like plea and asked The Unknown for guidance.
It was quiet in that little room. The anger and turmoil inside of me stopped screaming for the first time in weeks. And when I opened my eyes, a pencil was in my hand. Right there, I immediately began mapping out my first comic—an inspiration seemingly sent forth by the stars.
I had spent nearly two decades as a writer, but I had never once considered doodling. Not once.
And what I doodled wasn’t just any comic. It was a comic that laughed at my self-doubt. It was a comic that exposed what a fool I had been for comparing myself to others when really my life was full of so much joy—so much beautiful, radiant joy. The Unknown wanted me to laugh, to play, to celebrate the delightful absurdity of life.
It was a comic about toaster tongs:
Suddenly one comic turned into another and into another. Then, within weeks, I was creating a children’s book, a website, and a newsletter.
It turned out that this dark, helpless place was exactly where I needed to be to find the weird and wonderful life I wanted all along. I still find myself fraught with agonizing self-doubt and worry, oh do I ever, but I know too that if I hadn’t gone through these darker spot(s) in my life (to be fair, there have been quite a few of them), I never would have gotten here.
So yes, toaster tongs really are the best thing that ever happened to me.