Lost and Found
July 28th, 2010Somehow I lost my way. It didn’t happen all at once, but was a slow process, like getting lost in a place you thought you knew how to navigate through. One wrong turn, thinking “I’ll just go down this road awhile, then I will find a place to turn around.” By the time I realized I was well and truly lost, I didn’t know how to find my way back. And I had picked up two “passengers”; wonderful little boys who have brought me a joy more deep than any I ever known, yet demanded so much of me I could not navigate my way back.
I was lost in a job I hated; it was a boring and meaningless path – taken solely for the good pay and benefits along with a desirable seven minute commute. I tried to ignore the job; look for another path with more interest, but the same benefits. I thought that perhaps I could be happy by pouring my ambition and intellect into my children, my home, and my garden. The children are more intellectually stimulating than I ever thought they could be, but they are not enough. The house is the only true home I have ever known, but it is not enough. The garden is flourishing, but it is not enough. I am not my children. I am not my home. I am not my garden.
Ah ha, I thought! I will work for the cause of building sustainable food systems. I am passionate and knowledgeable about that. But working three days a week, taking care of the children all day two days a week, and most of the day another two days a week; all the while baking bread, hanging out the laundry, starting seeds, and bringing order to the clutter – there was no time left for much of anything else. I have managed to do a little for just myself: exercise class, this blog, plowing through library books at one in the morning, but it is not enough. I need to go farther than exercise class. I want to write books, not just read them.
Somehow in my mind the choice crystallized into three options.
- Option A: Stay in my current, easy job. Work part-time. Have enough time for the kids, the house, and the garden. Work on living ever more sustainably with the goal of working less outside the home – disengaging our lives from the “machine” that is modern society. Perhaps even “stay-home” full time some day? Homeschool?
- Option B: Look for a new job. Find an interesting, meaningful, “save the world” part-time job with the same pay, benefits, schedule, and commute as my current job. Perfectly balance motherhood and work. Live happily ever after.
- Option C: Look for a new job. Find an interesting, meaningful, “save the world” job. Accept that such a job will be demanding and full-time. Jeff has offered to stay home with the children. They will be well loved and taken care of. Make the most of our time together on the weekends. Buy the bread. Order more takeout. Accept that to have an interesting, modern job I must lead a more modern, unsustainable life.
I tried option A, but after three years of trying I couldn’t do it anymore – it was partly responsible for landing me in a therapist’s office soaking in post-partum depression. I tried option B. Not surprisingly, technical jobs such as mine pay vastly more than jobs where one saves the world at a non-profit. And those jobs aren’t part-time either – not unless you would like to volunteer. I flirted with Option C: went on a couple of interviews, contacted colleagues about new opportunities. Jobs were offered. Opportunities were presented and I realized that I didn’t want Option C anymore than Option A. I cannot be myself with Option A and I cannot be the mother I love to be with Option C. I was paralyzed.
One night a few weeks ago I couldn’t take my life for one more second and I lumbered out of the woods like a bear emerging from hibernation and made changes. And I chose Option D: none of the above. I fired off a midnight email to an old colleague and asked how to get my “old” (the job I had pre-Thomas) job back. I was happier then – traveling the country and the world, solving problems, living my own life. “But the commute!” (1+ hour) I protested. “But those aren’t the problems I want to solve. I want to save the world!” I protested. “I can’t leave my children. I don’t want to travel.” I protested. I decided to accept that the commute is not sustainable – but neither is depression. I decided that I can’t think about saving the world if I am miserable in my own. I decided that I can leave my children for a bit – brief absences will make our hearts grow fonder. I decided to work two days a week rather than three – even while the children will be in school one day a week. I will have one day – one blessed day to write, to research what I really want to be, to take classes. It seems like utter decadence to do such a thing, yet I am giddy with the thought. I will continue to bake the bread, hang the laundry, and start the seeds, but the housework will revert to a true 50/50 split between Jeff and I. It won’t be perfect, but I will begin living my life again. I will find a way to live in the modern world while it lasts and build a sustainable future.
I walked through LAX on Tuesday morning to catch a flight to Washington, D.C. Walking through terminal 7 to catch a United plane, something I’ve done dozens of times, but not for the past (nearly) four years was like slipping into a comfortable pair of shoes. It wasn’t exactly like old times; I carried a breast pump and pictures of my children with me. I had packed a lunch with carrots I pulled out of the ground with the boys not even 24 hours before. And I smiled. I have found myself: mother, wife, farmer, writer, intellectual, Gina.
