Last year was terrible. I had quit my job a few months earlier in order to help my mother make the move to California. She was living in Texas and was eager to make the move the Golden State to make her dream come true. I had tried to warn her that there wasn't much milk and honey here, unless you headed to Whole Foods, but she was dead-set on moving out.
Once I got her moved and moved into an apartment in Los Angeles, I checked my account immediately panicked. I had to move out of my zero room efficiency and in with my mother. Not my proudest moment. It was me, her two neurotic cats, and me on the floor. Those were low days indeed.
Pouring gas on the fire was the fact my mother has a telecommuting job, which meant she had to be up at 5 AM. So, yes, she had to make her morning coffee two feet from my head on the floor. By 6 AM, I couldn't help but be woken up by her talking on the phone. I was miserable -- but I was broke.
My daily desperation was compounded by the lack of space. I was so desperate I was taking out applications for menial work. I would rather clean toilets -- literally -- than have to go on like this. But as Southern California slipped into its worse economic recession ever, I was being told I was over-qualified.
Scouring the online job boards, I came across a nonprofit executive search. They wanted someone who could help generate publicity for homeless denizens of Los Angeles. I forwarded my resume and was granted an interview. Thankfully, I got the job and was able to move out of my mother's flat in seconds flat. Sometimes the worst situations are meant to point us in the right direction.
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