Rejuvenate Yourself with Mira Tasich's Self-Renewal Inspirations Sincerely and candidly, Mira Tasich writes of her personal rollercoaster journey from fear and self-doubt to power and rejuvenation. Goodbye Job, Hello Life never lectures readers but offers them lessons on how to re-invent and discover their hidden powers.
Good Bye Job, Hello Life
Finding Purpose Beyond Work
By Mira TasichBalboa Press
Copyright © 2014 Mira Tasich
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4525-1994-4Contents
Preface, xiii,
CHAPTER 1 Life-Changing News Flash, 1,
CHAPTER 2 First Flight, 10,
CHAPTER 3 Feeling Like an Outcast, 18,
CHAPTER 4 My First Job – First Love, 29,
CHAPTER 5 How Do I Leave?, 38,
CHAPTER 6 Dynamic and Unpredictable, 41,
CHAPTER 7 The Rise of an Entrepreneur, 46,
CHAPTER 8 Strength to Handle Changes, 52,
CHAPTER 9 Retail Therapy, 64,
CHAPTER 10 Master Career, 68,
CHAPTER 11 End of a Master Career, 75,
CHAPTER 12 Did My Value Matter?, 79,
CHAPTER 13 Jobless, Disappointed, Angry, 83,
CHAPTER 14 Identity Crisis, 87,
CHAPTER 15 Emotional Healing Trends, 92,
CHAPTER 16 Dancing with Ellen, 107,
CHAPTER 17 A Life-Changing Opportunity, 113,
CHAPTER 18 A New Beginning, 119,
CHAPTER 19 The End of the New Career, 127,
CHAPTER 20 Abandoned, 131,
CHAPTER 21 Time Out, 137,
CHAPTER 22 Lifestyle Changes, 143,
CHAPTER 23 Spiritual Healing, 146,
CHAPTER 24 Artist Trapped, 155,
CHAPTER 25 Where Do I Go from Here?, 159,
CHAPTER 26 Rewriting My Life Story, 164,
CHAPTER 27 Finding A Way, 177,
Concluding Comments, 182,
UPDATE, 183,
About the Author, 185,
CHAPTER 1
Life-Changing News Flash
Caught by surprise, I listened in shock as my grandfather made the announcement: "It's time for you to go." He was holding a letter from my mother. My mind went blank.
Then, questions suddenly rushed out of my mouth, "Go? Where? Why? I stared down at the badly worn linoleum floor, waiting for answers.
"We are old and uneducated; we can't help you with anything," explained my grandfather. "And your mother wants you with her now."
I felt as though I was standing on the edge of a precipice. Ready to burst into tears, I could not say a word. I never expected a day would come when my paternal grandparents, who had raised me from eight months old, would tell me I had to move to the United States to join my mother. As I glanced at the frail-looking sixty-year-old man, with his veiled strength worn-out, wearing mismatched clothes and his flat cap that only came off when grandmother insisted on washing it, I felt like throwing up.
Then, I looked at my grandmother, anticipating her coming to my rescue. She never turned her head to look into my pain- and panic-filled eyes. I knew she was just trying to remain composed. My grandmother, a chubby woman in her fifties, wearing an old but clean and pressed dress covered with apron, remained silent as she prepared a meal at the stove behind grandfather. Those two were as different as day and night in every aspect of their characters, and they never showed affection toward each other. I often wondered if they even liked each other. But they did their best with me. When I finally managed to say something, only a few words came out, "I don't want to leave you." I knew no matter what I said, it was pointless. The decision was firm.
My home lacked all urbane comforts but was always full of warmth and love. I was used to this dwelling that my grandmother kept spotless. This small one room studio on the ground level of an aging apartment building with damp walls was all I knew. Two beds, a table, and a stove were all crammed in a space smaller than the average American family room. A colorful woven rug graced the middle of the floor. The small entrance was jammed with armoires and cabinets serving as storage. The toilets were outside. We were among those left behind while the government built high-rises with brand new apartments all around us. My grandfather was on the multi-year-long list for a modern apartment, but no one knew when that was going to happen. Everything about my life was old—an old building with chipped paint; old, mismatched furniture; and old neighbors.
I was born in a big city in the old section of Belgrade. Between the world wars, Belgrade was the capital of Yugoslavia and then Serbia after the country split into small independent regions. Or, I should say, "resplit" since this area—the Balkans, on a peninsula of the same name in Southeastern Europe—was famous even before World War I for its shattered ethnicities—its unhappy amalgam of small nationalistic enclaves. Its name even gave rise to an epithet meaning "to break up into ungovernable pieces," or to "balkanize." Now it was happening again, returning to the same mess it was in in the first decade of the twentieth century. I was always proud of all regions. Each one of them has a unique beauty. And people, no matter where they live, are bonded by the many similarities in their cultures. Belgrade, situated between two merged rivers, the Sava and the Danube, is my beautiful special city. I felt comfortable walking everywhere there. I loved its many parks and its old buildings, which were long overdue for a face-lift or cleaning. That city was my comfort zone.
I never imagined my life could be unpredictable. For the people who lived around me, days seemed to be simple and repetitive. They complained about terrible politics, the economy, and their lack of money; however, day by day, week by week, nothing changed their situation. Some women worked, but for the majority of them, the typical day consisted of going to the farmers' market, cooking, cleaning, gossiping, and drinking many cups of coffee. The most important task of their day was finding out what the neighbors were cooking and where they were going. For men, they worked and then returned home to rest and chat with neighbors, perhaps while consuming beer or shots of plum brandy. For both sexes, taking midday naps was a common practice, and listening to music was one of the most widespread forms of entertainment. According to the examples around me, I thought no one had control over life. A person was dealt a hand of cards, and, like it or not, those cards became a person's destiny. And I wonder to this day why I was given a different opportunity, a chance to experience change.
Selfishly, when told of my mother's decision, I thought only of myself. Didn't I have the right to at least collaborate on this momentous move? I had never argued or questioned my grandparents' resolutions as my stand-in parents. Once my grandfather bought me shoes that looked like they were made for boys. Thick soled and clunky, these shoes were certainly not aesthetically pleasing to a little girl. While I dreamed of looking fancy in an elegant pair of black patent leather shoes, he gave me utilitarian, long-lasting footwear. In my eyes, he was mean. Nevertheless, I didn't question his frugality. Instead, I recognized it was not easy for an older couple to make ends meet on a small monthly salary.
Grandmother's creative cooking fed us on a small budget. We ate meat only on Sundays, except when a neighbor gave us a rabbit to cook or when grandma and I collected snails in the park for a delightful mouthwatering dish.
My grandparents' love and care for me showed as they really tried to give me the necessary nutrients. Many times, they bought one piece of chicken just for me. My grandfather was the health guru of the family. In addition to practicing all kinds of old healing remedies, he made sure I had my daily dose of fish oil and other vitamins. However, that did not save my tonsils from being taken out at age two.
For an older couple, they should have been planning for retirement and an easy...
