Chapter 44 Ruth
Chapter forty-four
Ruth
Returning home alone after a week in Phoenix with the people I love most is an unpleasant comedown. It’s like waking up with a hangover after a great night: an unwelcome bump back down to earth, complete with the nausea and the gritty eyes.
My time in Phoenix was everything I needed. I was the happiest I’ve been for a long time. And I didn’t think about my job once all week.
I did, however, spend an hour and a half on the phone with Reston Fisher, Jody’s younger brother, going through some publishing contracts with him.
The label that offered the deal had written some questionable verbiage into their contracts, which Reston would’ve simply accepted had Jody not pushed for Everett to reach out and connect us.
I was able to save him from a few headaches, and I landed back in London to a text from him to say the record label had accepted the updated clauses in his contract.
That was the best moment—a moment I felt like I’d made a real difference.
It almost swept my knees from under me with its intensity, the way I felt like I was on top of the world, even from something so small and easy.
It’s the feeling I’ve chased my entire career, and it took a singer-songwriter and a publishing contract to find it.
When I woke up this morning, everything felt different, somehow. The morning light was softer, less oppressive. The birdsong was sweeter.
And my heart felt lighter, somehow. Like I made a choice as I slept, and once I woke, I made peace with my decision.
Between Phoenix and home, I think I’ve found the clarity I’ve been seeking. I swing my feet up beneath me on my extra-wide office chair, using the additional space to sit cross-legged on the fleecy upholstery.
It is with a heavy heart…
Absolutely not. I backspace furiously.
It is with regret that I ask you to take this letter as my formal notice of resignation.
A dizzying, confusing sense of something washes over me as I type the words.
It lifts the hairs on my arms, sends a chill down my spine, and at the same time, it lifts a weight off my chest. My shoulders relax as I shuffle in my seat and I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with sweet vanilla from my oil diffuser and warm summer air from the open window.
It’s the first deep breath I’ve taken in months.
Beyond the glass separating me from the world outside my box room office, the cacophony of suburbia forms one half of my soundtrack.
Taylor Swift’s Fearless album, playing quietly on the record player in the living room, forms the other half.
Reminding me to look fear in the face, and do the thing anyway.
That’s what Taylor always said about fearlessness: it’s not the absence of fear.
It’s the bravery to do what scares you in spite of the fear.
I’m clinging onto that message for dear life today.
The window overlooks a communal green space shared by the residents of three small tower blocks, mine included.
On a warm, bright Tuesday in late July, the garden is filled with laughing children.
Colourful kites are thrown into the air.
Adults relax on blankets, wine glasses in hand, as they supervise their children running free.
I have loved—nope. Backspace, backspace.
I have thoroughly enjoyed—not even that, honestly.
I am grateful for my time at Trenton Langley, and for the opportunities it has brought me.
There. That’s better.
It wasn’t all bad. In fact, over the last seven years, there have been some pretty great moments.
I’ve done work I can look back and be proud of.
Sure, there are things—too many of them—that I’m not so proud of; things I’ve done under the pressure of being good enough, under the threat of being replaced by someone cheaper and more amenable.
But I’ve travelled. I’ve seen the world, or bits of it, at least.
And I met Everett.
I’d love to believe we’re fated; soulmates bound to one another regardless of distance or circumstance, but I’m not foolish. If I hadn’t flown to New York or to Austin, we never would’ve met. And even if I can’t be thankful to Trenton Langley for the rest of my time there, I’m thankful for that.
I hit send, then sit back and turn off both my laptop and my phone.
It’s liberating, and all at once terrifying.