Wayward

I worked almost ten years in a job that I never enjoyed. I mean, I guess I shouldn't say never...there were moments I enjoyed. There were people I enjoyed. There was even a position I enjoyed. One. Out of like five. Six? Something like that. It wasn't that I actively disliked it. Well, there were two or three of the positions I had that I did actively dislike, and two managers I had whom I definitely actively disliked. But for the most part, there was a sort of resigned contentedness. I had a routine, I got a paycheck. The American Way. But as I got older, and as other parts of my life became more fulfilling, the discontent I felt professionally came into sharper and sharper contrast. I worked for this great company who lots of people would've been happy to work for, but...I wasn't one of those people. It got harder and harder to pretend I was.

When I had B, it became virtually impossible to pretend. Sure, I was in a pretty terrible position at that point, but even as it began to improve, I just could not make myself want to be there. And being someone who wants to give my all to an endeavor, I felt increasingly like I was faking it, and as a result, faking myself and the company out. It wasn't a good feeling. And I let it go on long enough that I think it's had a lasting impact on my self esteem. But that's not my point here.

My point here is that this IS the American way. We find "good" jobs with "good" companies, and we just go on autopilot and work ourselves into exhaustion in pursuit of some goal or other. And I don't mean to insult those of you who are truly happy in your professions. That's not what I'm getting at, at all. But there are so many of us who aren't...and particularly in the past couple of years, that really ceased to matter. It was like, "Well, shit. At least I HAVE a job. If they really WANT me to start sleeping at my desk and only seeing my kid for two hours a week, I'll make it work!"

And here's the thing. That DIDN'T work for me. Or my family. We made the decision together that we didn't want that life. We didn't want the life in which I routinely went at least a day a week without seeing my son. We didn't want me working myself into a panic disorder for a paycheck of which we would give fully HALF to childcare. We made a conscious decision to put our family first.

So, why do I feel like such a selfish quitter, so much of the time?

Here Comes the Sun...

How intensely can the sun impact our moods? Pretty intensely. I mean, I think at this point, most of us know this, don't we? It's been studied repeatedly. There are diagnoses such as SAD. There is statistical proof that places with more sunshine tend to be "happier" while places with less tend toward depression. None of this is breaking news. So, why do I mention it? Because I think it's interesting (to me...again with the self absorption) that this has a greater effect on me in non-winter months than it does in winter ones. Maybe it's because crap weather during the winter is to be expected? I'm not even sure. What I do know is that last summer was no summer at all, really, and my psyche suffered for it. And I know that so far this April, we've been pretty lucky. But the past couple days were dreary and WHAM! My mood followed. And today, the sun is out and guess what? I feel better. Some of that is coincidental, I'm sure, and some of it is definitely hormonal, but the weather correlation is to exact to be ignored.

Showing My Age

I was at the library (pronounced lie-bee-bee) with B the other day. We were looking at books, and there were several with check-out dates from the late 1980's. This, obviously, was when I was a kid. Suddenly, it hit me that to HIM, the 1980's will seem as long ago as the 1950's seemed to me as a kid (since my mom was roughly the same ages in the fifties that I was in the eighties). I mean...OUCH. Of course, logically, I knew this already, but sometimes when thoughts like that hit home, it just makes you go, "Whoa."

And then last night, I was watching the SNL special on NBC. And they showed lots of clips of the musical guests, of course. And seeing Dave Grohl and Billie Joe Armstrong made me think about the fact that these two guys (and so many others) were, you know, youngsters when they first came into our consciousness, and now they're...not. Let alone Bono. I mean....So, it's just another one of those things that really highlights the passage of time, you know? It just seems so strange to me that the nineties were so long ago. But they were.

Artiste, or Just Self-Absorbed Brat?

They always say that artists are more sensitive than other people right? (Who is they, though?) They say that artistic bent makes you more of an empath, more in touch with your emotions, yet less able to control them. I can say with relative comfort that I fall into this category. I'm a writer and I'm an emotional mess a lot of the time. Whatever. It is what it is, and I'm okay with who I am. Mostly. But occasionally, I'll listen to what I'm saying, or I'll listen to my thoughts, and all of a sudden, I'm like, "Shut UP, you self-absorbed douchebag! No one CARES!" When I share this emotion with my confidantes (E, RB, my sis), they invariably tell me I'm way too hard on myself and that I'm not self absorbed. E generally tells me, in fact, that I'm not self-absorbed enough. But I really don't know that that's true. I talk about myself A LOT. And I mean, yea, I'm a natural storyteller, and storytellers tell stories about what they know and I know me, so...yea. But, still. I catch myself sometimes talking to my sister on the phone and I've yakked about my own day for like 20 minutes. I mean...WTF?! But then, I do also have friends and family in my life who, when I talk to them, I do more of the listening. So, maybe it all evens out? I don't know.

Anyway, another part of this "sensitivity" and "self-absorption" question is...I'm just SO sensitive to whatever's going on in my life. I get so stressed out over stuff that other people would barely register. I turn the smallest things into HUGE catastrophic events. My mother calls me The Agony and The Ecstacy...and it's TRUE. I can't even argue.

As a result, when I read blogs, I tend to gravitate to blogs by people who are surviving ACTUAL hardship. I find them so inspiring. They're as brave and positive and full of life as I wish I were. (Or at least as I wish I were at times because I do think I can be brave and positive...sometimes.) I've linked to some of these blogs in my sidebar. Two of the blogs are by people who lost their spouses to cancer and are raising small children on their own. I don't know either of these people, yet they are both inspirations to me on a daily basis.

Transition

Change is hard. Even when it's a change you want with your whole heart, it's just hard and usually a little scary. So, this week has been one of great ups and downs for me and my little man, who are both clearly undergoing radical changes to our lives and routines.

I know with absolute certainty that I made the right choice. It was the right choice for my family and it was the right choice for me, personally and professionally, in the long-term. But of course, that doesn't mean that I am just gliding along with a smile on my face. That isn't my nature. I have a near-compulsive need to know how things will turn out. And of course in life, you usually can't know how things are going to turn out. So, times of transition are just always scary.

And then of course, it's been a big transition for B, too. He is no longer going to "school" for the time being. We have re-located, but had visits to one set of grandparents last weekend and the other this weekend. And we haven't yet moved his bedroom stuff back up to Nashua, so he was in the pack & play this week. And as a result, he's been very emotional. Couple unusually horrific meltdowns in public. Always a good time.

But we'll get there. I know we will. Even with the weirdness of this week and the anxiety I've been feeling, I know we're where we need to be, and I know we'll get this Mommy and B thing down pat.

Done-zo.

Well, today was my last day. What a strange feeling that, after going to work at the same place (different groups, but within the same realm) for 9 1/2 years, I won't be going there anymore. It's funny. I thought maybe I would be sad. But I'm not. I mean, I'm a naturally nostalgic person, so I did spend the day reminiscing about my years there, and it was emotional to close the door on a fairly major chapter in my life, but I'm not sad. I have a certainty inside me that this was absolutely the right decision for me and my family. Still, it is definitely surreal to leave behind a place that saw me grow from a single 24 year old with no corporate experience to speak of into a married mother and professional with almost 10 years experience. I'm ready for my next chapter.