I'm so tempted to delete that, because I'm not sure how much time i want to spend fleshing out those thoughts, but it's been on my mind for a long time now - most of last year, and again since I've returned from maternity leave. I have a pretty good thing going where i am now - my situation is pretty ideal and sweet, to be honest. I can wear what i want, including jeans and tennis shoes. I can take my dog to work (not every day, but most days lately). When my kids are sick or my sitter has a migraine, i can bring the girls to work with me (because they'd rather have me and my girls than no me). I'm paid a good salary; a damn fine salary, even, if you consider that i have only a high school education.
Here's the thing, though: I don't give a fuck about drums. I don't care. I just don't care. My efforts feel so pointless and stupid and small. My company is owned by a private equity firm. The work I do, ultimately, goes toward making rich people richer. Maybe I'm helping put a Keurig on the counter of some bigwig's 3rd vacation home. What the fuck? Why? What's the point? I mean, beyond the fact that I have to work to make sure our mortgage is paid and we can go to the doctor when we're sick, of course. I know why i have to work. I think that I'm not happy with the sort of work I'm doing, for the sort of company I'm doing it for. Not that there's anything inherently wrong with my company, But it feels unimportant. I need to do something more; something that gives back and helps people and makes the world a happier place.
If only i could figure out what that should be.
Ideally? I'd be at home every day, raising my daughters. We'd go to the zoo and the science center and to toddler story hour at the library. There would be tumbling classes and music classes and play groups. My house would be clean and organized and my yard would be planted with beautiful flowers and we'd eat healthy meals each night sitting around the table and telling stories about our days in 3 languages we all spoke fluently....
I've wondered: Is this how a midlife crisis starts? Because that scenario I just laid out there? i know, rationally, that that shit wouldn't happen, even if I wasn't working and Jimi wasn't working and we had a full time nanny. Let's just be honest. But the longing I have to spend my waking hours doing something productive - actually productive, not just shuffling papers to make imaginary money for some imaginary executive - is so strong I almost turned my car around one day last week when I was heading back to the office after lunch. I was going to turn around and pick up the girls and take them to the park. I could almost feel the rush of fear and adrenaline when I called Jimi to tell him I was quitting my job, but that we'd figure it all out. I didn't turn around, of course. I went back to my desk like a good little girl and shuffled my papers and stomped down the ache in my heart when I thought of Cora's smile and Geneva's hug.
I just re-read that paragraph. I said I want to do something productive, and then said I almost quit my job to take the girls to the park. Are my priorities totally fucked up? Making Money < Taking Children To The Park. Growing young minds? Shaping the way my girls will approach the world? Way more productive than customer service at the drum plant, I assure you. I've been given this amazing task and responsibility, and it's supposed to be my number one priority, but it can't be my full time job because it literally does not pay the bills. It breaks my heart.
No one's going to pay me to stay home and raise babies, so my next logical solution was to win the lottery. I only matched two numbers on a $10 quick pick. Of all the fucking luck. Then I decided I'm either going to have to start my own business (but who has money, or time, or ideas, or the balls to do something like that?), have a post go viral and land a book deal (3 posts in 7 months, that shit's gonna happen any moment), or start looking for a job in a more charitable organization.
I think I need to be helping people in some way, and making small talk over the sound of the credit card machine processing their purchase just isn't cutting it. But gosh, the idea of leaving a job where I've been so comfortable for so long - it's terrifying. Starting something new? Something unknown? What if I fail? Sometimes I think I'm so afraid of failing that I'm afraid to even try. One of my first thoughts: No charity will pay me what I'm making when I don't have a college degree or any experience. It's probably the truth, but I haven't looked yet. The likelihood that it is true may be scary enough to keep me from looking at all. If I look, and find something I'm qualified for that will pay me enough - what if I sent them my resume and they didn't even call? I'm only just starting to realize that these crazy "what if" things I make up in my head are all coming from a place of fear and anxiety and I don't know when I started being so fucking afraid. I don't want to be afraid. I don't want to teach my girls to be afraid.
My girls. I want to tell them they can be anything they want, and I want them to chase their dreams. How can I show them how to follow their passions if I don't follow mine? Then again, maybe I should keep my passions on hold until after 6 and on weekends - and keep my ass in my desk chair from 8-5 bringing in that steady cash every week.
See? The crazy, it is strong. Jimi says, "You want all of these impossible things. You don't even waste your time with something realistic - you go right for the stuff that can't happen." You gotta dream big, baby. You don't get anything if you don't ask for it. May as well ask for the impossible, right? Maybe you'll get something awesome in return.
I'm going to get up and go to work tomorrow. I'll keep my eye out for some awesome, though. Just in case.