Fourteen

I'm not prone to being a Debbie Downer, but recent events have got my head in a bit of a tailspin.

Let's just get some things out in the air so everybody is on the same page, er, screen.

I spent the Christmas holidays seriously considering what I want to be doing on a day to day basis and if that's what I've been doing or not (life, work, all of it). My dad has been having heart trouble for a wee while and finally went in for an angiogram this week. On Monday, my boss, trusted colleague and friend quit his post as editor of one of the magazines I work for (I probably spend 60% of my time on that pub).

Three unrelated things? Yes and no. What the shite does that have to do with fourteen? I'll tell you.

(And here's where it gets a bit downer, but really I mean this as a positive so bear with me)

Mum died at 44. I'm 30. No, I'm not one of theses weirdos who thinks they're destined to only live as long as their parent. Trust me, I'm in it for the long haul. That said, I do think of mum often, of what she accomplished in a relatively short life, and yes, now and then I compare where I'm at with where she was at this age. And yes, every now and then I ask myself, "What if I only had 14 more years?"

I think of this in a healthy sense. I think of this as motivation - as in, if you only had 14 years left how would you spend it? Is what I'm doing today and what it looks like I'll be doing for the next two to five years how I want to spend up to one third of these 14 years? See? It's a good thing. Everybody start smiling now.

Add to this my dad's heart issues, which being male he doesn't talk about easily, and yes, that pesky idea of mortality creeps into my thoughts now and again. Before I forget, Dad's angio went well. Unsurprising to us, he has no blocked arteries. What this doesn't answer, however, is just what is wrong and what to do. More on that later.

Now we come to the meat of all of this - my boss jumping ship. Over the holidays I really had put an end date to my career in agriculture. And I was sad. Let me explain. I believe in working hard for what you want, but I also believe that sometimes you shouldn't push what's not working. Take it as a sign, cut your losses and go. I feel that way about agriculture sometimes, like I've yet to really find my niche or be truly happy with what I'm doing and I can't seem to make the most of all these so-called opportunities out there. So I started to think that maybe, just maybe, it was time to close that chapter and move on to something else. What else? Well, you'll have to wait for all that because of the first sentence of this paragraph.

My boss leaving means his job is open and I've been asked to throw my name in for the position. I've spent the afternoon putting my thoughts and ideas to paper (screen) and I meet with the higher ups in a few weeks. I'm excited, a little intimidated but mostly glad to have the opportunity to move up to what would truly be the most I could possibly do with this company.

And what if I don't get the job? There are worse things. But you better believe I won't be spending the next 14 years doing the same thing I am now. No way.

Stuff I've learned about me

Have you ever had one of those moments where you surprised yourself? Not so much in the "I didn't think I could do that, and then I did" way but more in the "I'm this type of person but ohmygod really I like XYZ and never thought I would" way.

Let me explain.

Being a working (at a job other than parenting) mum sucks. There, I said it. Every day is a balancing act between what's best for your babe, you and your family. Every day is different - with Chou gone, sometimes I'm so relieved, am able to re-charge and be a better mum because she's been gone for a few hours. Some days she's so happy to go to care that I don't know if she notices I'm gone. And then there are the days when I think maybe she wants to stay home, or that I want her to stay home. There are the days when I just plain old miss her and would rather be finger painting with pudding rather than talking to some high falutin' CEO.

The reality is, I could stay home full time. We'd manage, we'd be OK. The other reality is that a) Chou would be miserable home with just me full time and b) I'd struggle without some projects to be working on.

But here's what I learned about me this week that shocked the pants off me. The first two insights are courtesy of my husband (he's a smart cookie); the second I realized while hashing out with him my unhappiness with our present situation.

1. I get my energy, drive and enthusiasm from those around me. Ergo (holy shit, did I just use that properly? I did!), working alone for going on two years is snuffing out my spirit, drive and work ethic.

2. It doesn't matter what job I do, I need to have ownership of what I'm doing. Currently, I'd say I have ownership of 50% to 60% of what I do. Not bad, not great.

And here's the kicker:

3. I do best when I'm very busy (not surprising) and WITHOUT A SCHEDULE.

Why is this so surprising? Because I'm an uber planner. Because I love order, symmetry and monotony.

But.

The husband pointed out, from his point of view, when I've been happiest with work and life and really been thriving. It's always been when I was on the go, free to seize moments and opportunities and just do what needed to get done while it needed doing.

Do you see where I'm going with this? No? Me neither. But what I'm coming to realize is that my job is not a great fit. It's a good fit, but not a great fit when balanced with being a momma. Because feeling that I have to be at my desk, at my phone and in front of my computer during office hours is stifling me. I am alone in my house too many hours in a day. Too many.

To balance that, I made rye bread, worked out at lunch and put a lovely dinner on the table for my family. All things I couldn't have done if I had been at the office all day (or would have been bloody difficult to do). And that dinner, that my friends was the best part of my day.

And.

Like many women, my hubby's job is going to dictate where we live, for how long and will have more sway on our standard of living. Presently, he and I make similar coin (similar, not the same), however his earning potential is just that much higher than mine. This I don't mind, however, it's put the whole "career goals" discussion in a much different light.

This is where I get a little selfish. Or not.

If I can't choose and shape my career as a life-long career because of extenuating circumstances, why shouldn't I do what I love to do rather than what brings in the most money?

Our life is always going to be a trade-off. We will move a lot. My job will have to be portable. We're going to be starting from scratch over and over. Most of running our household is always going to be on me. My husband works long hours and travels and that's not going to change.

And a little bit of me feels like the trade off should be that I get to do what I want in my everyday versus what I have to do.

Now, if I could pin down exactly what that is within the confines of a) minimum income needed, b) no less time with Chou and c) is mobile, I'd be ready to pull the rug out from under our lives and shake things up a bit.

Soon, my friends. Soon.

The F Word

No, not that one, worse than that.

That's right, focus.

It's a term that keeps coming up, usually following the words "I can't".

What's got me a little put out is that it's not just work, it's life, it's training, it's my health and my home. Sure, I'd like to blame it all on the craziness that has been our life for the last few weeks, but that's only been the straw to break the camel's back, not the problem itself.

Any mums can relate. Lately the only conversations I have with my momma friends revolve around this return to work, in no matter what capacity. We're all bright women with goals and aspirations, and not all of them job-related. We're struggling with balancing time with our children with bringing home an income, but more than this we're struggling with promising more than we can deliver or, gasp, not being able to focus on what we do have in front of us. Personally, what I'm CAPABLE of and what I'm WILLING to commit to are two very different beasts right now. That goes hand in hand with feeling somewhat unfulfilled with work and questioning the balance of time spent working.

In reality, my days are not so bad and the my return to earning a meager wage has gone swimmingly. Chou transitioned to day care like a duck to water. I've managed to pick up right where I left off and I'm at least mostly excited about the tasks at hand. If I suffer from focus issues now and again, I blame the still somewhat sleepless nights and making milk (it's a very big draw on my system, OK?)

Where I'm really struggling to focus is on training. In fact, I can officially say I'm no longer training. For anything. And it's a slippery slope. My Weight Watchers coupons ran out this week. In two weeks I've pounded out....three.whole.miles. I'm carbo loading, boredom eating and watching the pants get tighter, the sleep get worse and my skin break out. This isn't about weight loss, this is a lack of focus on health. See? It's that F word again.

And just when I needed it most, the latest Running Room magazine arrived in the mail. There's an article in there that really hit home. I do need to take a step back, REFOCUS, prioritize healthy eating, build core strength and lean muscle mass, stretch and drop some unnecessary pounds. I officially admit that my periformus (sp?) is not getting better. Guess what was also covered in today's magazine? Yep. I need to address this before it hamstrings my running for good.

I dropped out of the Ottawa half last week. I'll consider my $45 entry fee a goodbye gift to my former home city. I started looking at signing up for the Manitoba Half, and then realized I don't have to run a half this spring. I can run the Queen City Half in September. Nearly a year between big races is just fine.

At the very least, it'll give me time to focus.

My boss is stalking me

Either he can read my mind, or he's reading my blog. And so far, it's working out in my favor.

The boss and I finally had a chance to chat this week. The news on one end was not good - no more money in the budget for me. I expressed my disappointment and was about to counter with a "Well, what about part time for more per hour?"

Except that I didn't have to say a word.

He said, "Have you thought about part-time? We could potentially bump up the hourly rate but you only work two and a half days a week."

Um, did you just totally do some Jedi mind trick and read my mind?

Nothing's set in stone, details have yet to be worked out, but it looks like part-time might happen leaving me free to be with my baby and play with some ponies (maybe).

Perhaps I should start concentrating really hard on four weeks vacation per year....

Kizmet

I keep waiting for what I'm supposed to do with my life to walk up and hit me in the face. The likelihood of that happening is, I'm guessing, about as likely as Angelina adopting a white baby.

But then again, maybe, just maybe I'm being smacked around and I'm just too dazed to notice. Or in denial. Either or.

I get paid to write. That makes me a writer, I guess. I came into it completely by chance, not design, so a part of me has always felt like a fraud. I never dreamed of being a writer. I didn't attend journalism school. Heck, I hardly kept a journal in my teens.

I am a talker, though. It's not so much that I like to hear my own voice (actually, I hate the sound of my voice) but I just can't help it. I have too many ideas, opinions, observations and so on, that somehow I think people need to hear. You'll note I don't say "want" to hear, because they likely don't. But that doesn't stop me. Oh, no. I hand out advice left and right, much to my own detriment at times. I could sit over a coffee or tea and chat for hours, pre Chou Chou. I know a little bit about a lot of things and just can't stop myself from sharing. I'm also very curious. I read a lot. I remember most of what I read, even in passing. See what I'm getting at?

While I may consider myself a writer, I'm a born talker, and really the two aren't so different. And while I dream of all sorts of careers I think I'd like or even be very good at, I've got a very good one staring me right in the face. And it's one that I can do while still spending all the time I want with Chou - and not many people have that opportunity.

I have a job I'm going back to. But I've asked for a few things before I fully commit to going back. And today I started wondering just what I would do if they weren't going to sweeten the deal for me. I started getting antsy about my fall back plan of freelancing and completely depending on my business for income.

I went for lunch with a friend and while I was explaining to her my situation, it dawned on me. To maintain my current level of income (maternity leave) I have to write exactly one story a week. Seriously. I can do that in less than 5 or 6 hours usually, nevermind an entire week. Then, I think, but where would I get work from? But since I've put out my shingle, I've always had stuff to work on.

And then, kizmet. I got home, my head full of all the possibilities of what I can/will/want to do, and I had two e-mails waiting for me. One to add my name to a list of international freelancers and another for a very lucrative freelance writing opportunity. I sat up just a little straighter in my chair.

Maybe I'm getting smacked in the face. Just a little.