A Saint Dirty Face™ confession

I’m unemployed.

No alarm clock yelling at me.

No inbox full of fake urgency.

No motivational LinkedIn posts telling me to “rise and grind.”

And here’s the part that really scares people:

I don’t feel bad about it.

I’m not depressed.

I’m not lost.

I’m not “falling behind.”

I’m resting.

For the first time in a long time, I wake up without dread dripping down my spine. I make my drink slow. I sit still. I breathe like someone who isn’t being chased by deadlines, politics, or middle management with a God complex.

Do I have drive to job hunt?

Nope.

Not even a little.

Not today, Satan.

And that bothers folks.

Because in America, stillness is treated like a sin. If you’re not producing, grinding, chasing, proving—then clearly something must be wrong with you. The idea that a grown man could simply enjoy being home? Radical. Possibly illegal. Someone call HR.

Here’s the dirty truth:

I gave decades to the machine.

I showed up early.

I stayed late.

I carried weight that wasn’t even mine.

Now?

The machine can wait.

This pause isn’t laziness—it’s recovery.

It’s rehab for the soul.

It’s my nervous system finally getting a long drink of water after a desert crossing.

Will I work again someday?

Yeah. Probably.

I like money and electricity.

But I’m done sprinting toward the next thing just to prove I’m “productive.” I’m done apologizing for peace. I’m done letting panic decide my timeline.

Right now, my job is simple:

Be present Be human Be still long enough to hear my own thoughts again

And oddly enough… that feels like progress.

The grind will call. It always does.

But for now, it can leave a message.

I’m home.

I’m breathing.

And I’m not broken for enjoying it.

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Saint Dirty Face™

Stay Dirty. Stay Human™