It happened again. I was let go from the autism center.
It felt like a flashback to the fateful meeting with my music therapy internship supervisors back when I was in Fort Wayne. I went into the meeting expecting a completely different turn of events. I loved the job. I wanted to ask about how to advance. I wanted to see what kinds of degrees I could get to dive even deeper into the field. I had a whole plan to rework the field of autism therapy into something better for neurodivergent folks like me eventually. Even my boss wasn’t expecting her boss to tell her to let me go. But the writing was on the wall. I wasn’t advancing as quickly as they needed me to, and that was that.
But I wasn’t as devastated as I should have been, weirdly enough. And I think it’s because the universe has been trying to tell me something for years, and now maybe is the time to listen.
There’s a great quote that’s commonly (incorrectly) attributed to Albert Einstein that amounts to “if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will spend its entire life thinking it’s stupid.” Even if Mr. Einstein himself never spoke these words, I feel there is a truth to them.
I have always wanted to be a healer of some sort, but I never really knew what that meant for me. I’ve spent my whole existence being told that because I’m compassionate and intelligent, I belong in a clinical setting. It made the most sense logically, especially if I wanted to actually make money with whatever I ended up doing for a living. I had every intention of getting into pre-med until my parents talked me into music therapy instead.
And…yeah, that didn’t exactly go well.
Don’t worry, this isn’t a sad post.
You see, the autism center wasn’t my only form of employment. I moonlight as a music bingo and karaoke host, and the gig has not only been the longest job I’ve ever stuck with, but also the best job I’ve ever had by far. It’s creative. It’s engaging. It involves music and extroverting. And for the first time in a long time, I’m doing something I’m good at. It’s funny, I remember the strange dichotomy between the ways my bosses in various fields would speak to me. When I worked in healthcare or similar clinical settings, it was always “Jess, why can’t you keep up with your coworkers?” But then my bosses from the entertainment company would call me and sing my praises. It was like that song I liked in high school, “According to You” by the very underrated guitarist Orianthi. According to the higher-ups at my day jobs, I was stupid and useless and couldn’t do anything right. But according to him (the cool dude who sends me my schedule for music bingo every week), I’m a good enough host to literally send across the country in a big stupid airplane to train up new folks.
Maybe the autism center didn’t work out because that wasn’t my calling.
I love entertaining. I love being a creative. I love being surrounded by music and life and people. Perhaps I’ve been flying in the face of my own favorite piece of advice: never break your own bones to fit into someone else’s box. I don’t belong in a cold, clinical setting. That is not me. I belong on a stage, or on a screen, or even just behind the scenes furiously typing up the script. I was meant to create things that inspire and challenge people. The world needs a voice like mine, and I need to stop being so afraid to use it. That’s my fatal flaw — I’m afraid of damn near everything.
Which is why I’m shocked I’m not more worried about my current less-employed status. I have faith that things will work out somehow. I want to do the research on how to get my writing published properly. I might get back into streaming video games again with my wife and roommate. I want to lean into my work as a KJ and music bingo host and bring music and fun into the everyday lives of everyday people. Most importantly, I want to figure out how to make a living doing what I love instead of desperately trying to shove myself into a niche that isn’t mine. I’m no longer interested in pretending to be something I’m not.
And if I have to carve my own path, that’s what I’ll do.
JESSA JOYCE 