Everything seems to finally be changing at work – I hope for the better. I really like my job, and I am good at it, but more than anything else it keeps a roof over my head. I know that is not the best reason to stay, but it is the best I can do at the moment. Back when I decided to work towards a career in Human Resources, I had something very different in mind. It took me half my life to realize why I was never happy in career roles that had no people connection – I am a humanitarian. Once I discovered that about me it seemed only natural that HR would be the best choice for a happy career. Sadly, after the last two years it feels as though something inside me is trying to reconsider the direction I am taking. Maybe I should have turned left. Everyone around me points me in the direction of writing for a living, but it is so scary to take a step in that direction. A friend of mine asked me to look into Grant writing. We will see…
Something in my constitution has not been thrilled about taking chances since my surgery. I think when something that drastic happens it shakes a good dose of reality into a person. In the five and a half years since then I have yet to bounce back to my old self. Suddenly, I realize I have not the means to support myself into retirement. If something were to happen to my j.o.b., at this point, I would be homeless. Eleven years ago I sold my house, packed my daughter and a few belongings and moved us way way beyond the mighty Mississipp. I started out on that adventure with less than $4,000.00 in my pocket and a chest full of hope. I would no more take that journey than most if it were now.
Maybe it was not the surgery that drapes my sense of adventure, but aging. I turned forty just after they eliminated that little schwannoma. Maybe I would have begun this spiral into reality anyway – I will never know the answer to that wondering.
A part of my latest dose of reality is that I am alone. I can really feel that more than ever, and it means something to me now. That does not mean I am suddenly interested in throngs of friends and commitments that leave me drained and empty inside. It means the fact that while talking to people about their weekend activities that I have none of what seems to be ‘normal’.
Each time I use the word ‘normal’ I think of a dear friend from the past – Tommy. Each time I used the word in his presence he would ask, rhetorically, “What is normal?” Indeed…
Sometimes it is scary to be 3000 miles away from everyone that knows and hopefully loves me. Sometimes it feels safe, though.
I have spent so much of my last two years in an apparent state of sleep walking back into the past trying to recapture the me I became after spreading my wings. My thirties were the best years thus far, because they were filled with adventure, discovery, independence and self-fulfilling prophecy. I became more than I ever dreamed I would be and that all seems lost to me now. But, this morning, just now, I realized that I have been doing what so many adults do – spend too much time trying to recapture their youth. Oh my, I am one of those. I suppose it is time for me to realize that I have evolved from the place on the lifeline that brought me so much joy and happiness.
Okay… I accept that time has elapsed, and no longer am I the same spiritual being, and that the part of me that I missed has not departed, but is trying desperately to transform and evolve into something even greater… better. Is it a matter of letting go? What do I do next? I suddently feel like a toddler again. –sigh-
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