So my last few posts have been very, very insane. I don’t actually feel like the raving lunatic those posts imply. It’s just cathartic for me to throw it all out there, into the universe, whenever panic strikes.
And yet I am nervous. Change always make us nervous, right?
I think there are a bunch of things that have me rattled. Here’s the list:
- I used to be a hyper-competent, well-respected member of a professional community who could probably find her next job without much drama. But now I’m just completely unknown in this new city, after two years completely out of the workforce.
- On my (other, real) blog, I’m starting to get a good following and I suspect that if I monetized, I’d make some cash. I’ve been asked to guest blog on a major site, so I’m really not dreaming. But I wouldn’t make enough money to make it worth my while … and certainly not enough to substitute for a full-time job. So I wonder if this should just remain a hobby?
- Blogging, combined with my responsibilities in my last position, have convinced me that my talents are in a slightly different field than the one I last called home. So factor that in – new city, no contacts, need to redirect my job search.
Add in sleep deprivation, new motherhood, guilt about not spending any time with my husband and toddler, worries about the economy and Jimdear’s job and it all adds up to a general feeling of jumpiness.
I’m sure I’m not alone right now, with the wild mood swings. My days tend to go like this:
Mid-morning: Spot a pair of real shoes – y’know, with heels, not splattered with mud from walking around the ‘hood with baby and toddler in tow – and think wistfully of the mornings where I left the house showered and dressed in something that wasn’t a tee on a regular basis.
Lunchtime: Practice answering interview questions, especially coming up with a quick response as to why I’ve been out of the workforce for two years.
Late afternoon: Chloe smiles at me and it all flies out the window. I think that I could never leave her.
Three minutes later: Chloe screams during a diaper change. Or I remember that she won’t be little long, but I’ll be a grown-up until it’s over, so I’d better get my act together – or I’ll be rehearsing answers explaining why I’ve been out of the workforce for three years.
3 p.m.-ish: Tune into CNBC for grim economic news. Despite my personal tendency towards optimism – and my oft-repeated mantra that, in finance, when they declare the apocalypse is nigh, it’s usually time to get out of the way, ’cause it’s gonna look like Pamplona in a few months – jobless claims do rattle me. Why would anyone hire me, I think?
4 p.m.-ish: Cruise Monster and USAJobs. Consider applying for a few things. Realize I’m either horribly over/underqualified for most.
Later that night: Realize there is one USAJobs spot perfect for me. Begin application process. Realize job closes at midnight and it’s practically impossible to supply the reams of information required by the witching hour. (I’d need to, for example, upload my college transcripts. Even if I could, in theory, find and scan them quickly, I know I can’t do it while holding an infant. And I know the infant won’t sleep long if I put her down.) Sigh. Vow to be more diligent about searching the site and devote more time to job searching.
Reflect that I’m probably more likely to get a non-federal job, and likely to be happier in a non-bureaucratic role. But realize that they’re more likely to interview quickly, meaning that there’s no point in applying until year’s end – I can’t go to the interview wearing my daughter in her Baby Bjorn.
Jimdear does not help this process. He tells me I should be aiming higher – but after finally recovering from a serious case of career burnout and a strong sense of missing our firstborn’s early childhood, I’m afraid to aim too high. I want to aim just high enough – but then I realize that with my master’s degree and work history, many employers won’t consider me for a less responsible position. Jimdear’s assurances that we’ll figure “it all” (meaning our life) out do not settle my nerves. I imagine a life of messy kitchens, wrinkled laundry and forgotten everything.
Okay, sounding a little daffy again, right? I’m sure that I will look back someday and laugh. I’m sure that someday it won’t matter if the kitchen wasn’t spotless. I’ll have a place to wear that pair of shoes, I will. And somehow it will all work out. Optimism, right?
Right?
