I work a pretty flexible schedule these days.
It’s this way by choice having spent far too many years hustling the “oh-so-desirable-9-to-5” gig which only ever manifested in a stressed-out, over-tired, guilt-ridden, financially-frustrated me. It was becoming clearer after having kids that my tolerance for this lifestyle had shifted, but I wasn’t able to see the possibility in myself quite yet.
Like many of us, I had labeled my space as “stable” – but really disguised my struggles with a perceived contentment. My better half has held the same role at the same company for 11 years, and I was letting that again and again allow me to force myself into a rabbit hole. To prove my worth in getting up early and wear a certain style of clothing, while remaining in (or adding on) school and classes and trainings to help advance my career. “Career” being whatever I thought I needed to have and hold in order to describe and declare myself in the world when receiving the inquiry, “So … what exactly do you do?”
I believe that we ask others this question (myself as well) most of the time with good intention, to set a formality of introduction and perhaps size one another up (comparison sigh).
But what does it matter what we do?
Doesn’t it matter so much more who we are?
Sure enough, during the last 15 months or so, I collected my resources (confidence included) and began an entrepreneurial life – which, if you had asked me just 2 years ago that I would be attempting – it would have only been met with a curt, polite smile and a gentle roll of my eyes.
Can’t do that. Not practical. Not appropriate for me and my energy. I work too hard and have to show that by working long hours, in 1 place (and then maybe adding a 2nd or 3rd more) to attest that I’m a hard worker and staying busy busy busy…
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And so was the grind – the jostled pace of a satiated community mental health agency in Northeast Philadelphia for 4+ years. Where I established my first groundings in Systemic Family Therapy; where I negotiated among fellow colleagues who also trained there, the rights and responsibilities of holding space for families who were most of the time (simply) trying to survive. And this wasn’t even the 9-to-5 to which I generally refer. It was easy for work to follow me home if I let it. It was plenty more engrossing than my part-time 3 days/week. People’s stories consumed me until I had appropriate supervision to nudge me otherwise. I was completing additional classes, working that 2nd (and 3rd) job, having children of my own, and developing (finally) a greater sense of self that peered over the edge of my current experiences. Not a peering in the that’s-too-far-out-of-reach-longing kind of way, but in the hooray-for-at-last-believing-and-achievable way.
A view from under which I could escape the largest barrier to living wholeheartedly: myself.
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Cut to a recent trip away in Denver, Colorado this last weekend. Our kiddos’ first plane rides, our first family-of-four-vacation in what felt like forever. (Was it ever?) Fairly home-bodied people, we desired to feel adventurous and thus planned all the things. My husband, in particular, exemplifies this unique skill in his work, so he pleasantly stood to the task of creating such an Excel document of our excursion broken down by hour by hour (seriously – talk about detail!).
And as we landed, things go to sh*t.
Okay, not really to sh*t. But into that place of a universally subconscious laughter as we realize not much of it mattered. The regimented, structured intel was no more important than the organic, superfluous moments that transpired. Not to mention, the “rat race” out West? It’s only on the roads of marathons or mountain skiing. Not in work. Not seemingly in relationships. Most of the culture was so relaxed and friendly and receptive, we nearly questioned it. (Is that the saddest part?) We were befuddled by the wide generosity for our fundamental right to breathing to take precedent. Our inhales, our exhales, our eyes to absorb. Less time on our phones. Less wandering around internet streams because actual rivers and trails were under our feet. To say it all went to sh*t is because it actually went the way we wish life to go.
The way it needs to – the way we choose – for us to live more deeply.
Earnestly. Openly. Thoughtfully, perhaps, and not colored merely by way of “practicality.”
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I bring this back to my experience as a self-employed therapy/yoga/reiki person because it’s not about what. It’s not even always about with whom. It’s about how.
How do I wish to work? The ways that suits me and our life. (Differently obviously, though no more important, than how my husband chooses.)
How do I wish to leave my impact on this earth? The ways that comfort my kids’ futures while understanding that means less on material and more on presence.
How do I wish to spend? The ways that provide my own optimal balance. (Remember that balance is not stagnant, for no seesaw is ever completely still).
How do you choose to _______?
Can you honor it?
I can with you.
I will for you until you can.
I hope that you can. I believe that you can.
Here with admiration for your choices and your journeys, too.