A layoff and a newborn

Eleven days. That’s how long my son had been in the world when I learned my job was gone.

I was on paternity leave when the email came. We’d flown home to Vietnam for the delivery, so I read it from there, with the apartment we still rent in Singapore and all its small administrative loose ends to untangle from a distance.

Honestly, I didn’t love the job. It wasn’t fun, and it wasn’t aligned with where I want my career to go or what I’m good at. But it paid well and it was steady, and with a newborn that mattered. Now we have zero income, and the next few months are going to be tight.

The feelings came mixed. There’s the plain worry about money, and the work of closing a chapter. But the same stretch of days that took the job gave us Voi, and it’s hard to feel hollowed out while holding the best thing that has ever happened to you.

I’m tired in a way I’ve never been tired. The sleep deprivation of a new parent is its own weather system, and I’m doing paperwork inside it.

But the hardest news has landed, and there’s relief in that. So now I gear up. Open the old notebooks, brush off the rust, get ready to interview again.

Onward.