Honest Janitor Who Saved My Job

Some days arrive wearing steel-toed boots and stomp right across your peace. You know the days—the ones that make you question your calling, your competence, and maybe your decision to get out of bed at all.

I may have retired, not from writing, but from another 9-5 job, but I’ve had more of those than I could ever tally, and if heaven’s keeping score, I hope the angels are using pencils with good erasers.

Back in my early twenties, when bangs were big and my confidence was… not, I worked as a bank teller in California. Balancing my drawer down to the penny felt like walking a tightrope over a canyon of anxiety. One Friday, the rope snapped.