Funemployment.

I am properly unemployed for the first time since I was a 14.

When you’re a child, unemployment is called “summer.” You wake up with no meetings, no emails, and no sense of urgency. You eat cereal at 11am and consider it a lifestyle choice. As an adult, unemployment is the same schedule, but with the thrilling new hobby of refreshing your bank account and whispering, “Okay but like… how long is too long?”

The weirdest part is the time. So much time. Glorious, terrifying, stretchy time. I can now:

• Go to Tesco at 2 p.m. after the pensioners and lunch rush, but before the after school/work rush.

• Take a walk “just to think,” which is something novelists do and I am absolutely not qualified for.

• Google things like “how to stay productive while unemployed” and then immediately take a nap. Christ, I am good at napping.

There’s a certain emotional whiplash to it. On one hand, I feel untethered, floating freely through my days like a Victorian child with a hoop and a stick. On the other hand, I occasionally panic that I have become a Victorian child with no hoop and no stick.

But here’s the thing: I know I’m lucky.

Lucky to have this time.
Lucky that I don’t need to work, and to not be in survival mode.
Lucky that my biggest stressor right now is whether I should look for a new project today, or reward myself for opening my laptop at all.

This is not rock-bottom unemployment. This is soft, extra-planned and curated, padded unemployment with Wi-Fi, snacks and Yorkshire Gold.

And that makes it emotionally complicated. You’re supposed to feel anxious and driven and very LinkedIn about it. Instead, I feel… reflective. I’m noticing how much of my identity had shifted to “self-employed contractor”. Without that label, I’m left with:

• Person who quietly and calmly drinks a cuppie, and doesn’t throw it down their throat between Teams calls.

• Person who suddenly cares about daylight, and making sure to actively partake in the absorption of it.

• Person who keeps saying, “Well, when I was working…”

I’m learning that being unemployed isn’t just about not having work. It’s about having space. Space to be bored. Space to be scared. Space to ask extremely chill questions like, “What do I actually want?” instead of “What do I need to finish by Friday?”

Which is rude, honestly. I didn’t ask for an existential retreat.

Still, I wake up every day knowing this is temporary. A strange little chapter. A pause between versions of myself. A sexy sabbatical that I am trying to use responsibly, like someone who finds £20 in their coat pocket and decides to buy vegetables instead of chaos.

So yes, I’m unemployed. For the first time since childhood. I don’t circle back. I don’t take things offline. I don’t know what day it is.

But I do know this: I’m safe, I’m okay, I’ll most likely end up back in pension project. But, I have time to figure out what’s next. And honestly? That’s a pretty lucky place to be. Even if I’m still eating cereal at 11am like it’s summer.