Less busy in that instead of punching a time clock, I’m freelancing ... a decision that came after some serious soul-searching.
After being downsized, I now know how unsettling it is not to have a plan. I should have seen the red flags when the workload dwindled and dwindled and dwindled some more. (In retrospect, there were more red flags than a communist parade, but I still chose to think positive—which can be a blessing and a curse.)
All of a sudden I was unemployed. Instead of waking up and going to work, I was consumed with the (sometimes demoralizing) process of applying for jobs. I took free classes at the local library (one on resumes; another on interviewing). I contacted a recruiter. I asked close friends to review my resume, my cover letters, my online portfolio. I met with a former colleague for lunch and insight. I signed up for job alerts. I filled out online applications, crafted personalized cover letters, agonized over assessment tests ... and then I waited and wondered and worried. Did I do something wrong? When did employers start making job seekers jump through so many hoops before even having a live conversation? We are people, not robots.
I eventually landed nine phone interviews, some that had the potential to go somewhere, others that didn’t. (Phone interviews are their own kind of hell.) In one situation, the salary was too low. In another, the office was too far away. In a third, the hiring manager came off as a young, arrogant jerk. And yet I didn’t lose hope. I was humbled by the people willing to help me. It’s my hope to one day repay every person who took the time to drop me an encouraging note, email job openings, send a thoughtful package “just because,” listen to my fears and frustrations, treat me to lunch, put in a word with their boss/friend/hiring manager, leave me a sweet post-it note on the kitchen counter, or lift me up when I was feeling down.
In January, I came to peace with the idea of freelancing. At this point in our lives, it makes the most sense. I talked at length with Aaron, who said he’d support me no matter what I chose, so long as my “bucket was full.” (God how I love that guy.) I hashed out the pros and cons with my always-understanding family and career-wise friends. I had lunch on more than one occasion with my girl power pal Mandy, who broke down what I should unapologetically charge per hour. “You have to believe in your worth,” she said. “You’ve earned this.”
I’d had a steady job ever since I was 16, so I’m not gonna lie—I was worried about givin' up the 9-to-5. This isn’t just some minor decision, like whether to order carnitas tacos or a burrito bowl. My worries went like something like this:
I’m too social to be a freelancer. I like making friends. I like getting to know people. Who will say “bless you” when I sneeze? Who will ask how my weekend was? Freelance sounds lonely.
Reality: Turns out it’s not so bad being in my own head all day after all. And also turns out that, with the stars aligning, I was able to create a unique freelance situation, devoting
the majority of my writing to a wonderful nonprofit. By choice, I drive 30-minutes twice a week through small towns and along country roads for kickoff meetings and a change of scenery … but mostly for the social aspect (and because they have a really good salad bar).
I don’t have the hustle in me. I won’t be able to find enough writing projects.
Reality: I’ve never felt comfortable selling myself. (Wait, that sounds inappropriate. NOT WHAT I MEANT.) Networking just isn’t my forte. On the other hand, I am pretty good at nurturing GENUINE connections. Through these relationships, I’ve been given the opportunity to completely revamp a daycare website, proofread a weekly circular for a farm/ranch/home retailer, write press releases for a music company, craft emails, social media and write interesting blogs, and do fun, familiar work for a former employer.
I won’t do well with an unpredictable income.
Reality: There’s definitely more anxiety when you don’t know exactly how much—and when—you’re getting paid. Receiving a consistent paycheck is what I miss most about working FT. (Other than having work friends.) However, when I do the math, I’m still coming out ahead. I choose my own hours and am in control of how much money I make.
I won’t get to be really GOOD at any one job.
Reality: No matter what you do, and no matter how long you’ve been doing it, you should be a work in progress. If you’re not learning, you’re not growing. Right? Right.
I won’t be moving as much. I won’t take the little walk breaks I took when working in an office. I will become a lazy sloth.
Reality: It’s easy to make excuses (too cold to go to the Y, too dark to do my workout in the basement, too boring to go for a walk by myself). It really should be the opposite. I’m working on it!
I’ll miss going to (some) meetings and happy hours with coworkers and taking part in team-building events.
Reality: I do miss this, but there are other ways of contributing to a team. I volunteered as the parent rep for Adam’s basketball team last year, and Ben’s this year because I like communicating with the parents, I like going to board meetings, and HOLY SH#T is the coach HOT. :)
The best aspects of freelancing?
• Adam’s school-time migraines have decreased by more than 90 percent. (He really hated that before-and-after school care program.)
• I don’t operate on autopilot. I notice the leaves changing colors. I’m more present.
• I’m not racing from task to task, anxious about getting to the next place. I’m even EARLY sometimes now. I didn’t realize how anxious I was until I wasn’t in hurry-up-and-get-there mode.
• I don’t have to use PTO (I’m my own boss!) I get to chaperone every field trip. I volunteer at the school library. I grocery shop with the old grannies during the day. I can have lunch with my parents.
• I don’t have to sit in bumper-to-bumper soul-sucking traffic. (Aaron does enough of this for us both.)
• SUMMER BREAK!
I’m happy to report that the crazy-driving was kept to a minimum. A big part of this is that the boys are 9 and 12, rather than toddlers who require far more supervising. I like these ages. I genuinely like the people they have grown into. I like spending time with them. One second we can laugh about something ridiculous; the next we can talk semi-intelligently about a current event. I’m not wiping butts or diffusing tantrums or watching Dora, Thomas, Bob the Builder or G-rated movies. I even liked that our house became the hangout spot this summer. Well, I mostly liked that. When I was knee-deep in a grueling freelance project that spanned the entire month of July and I was slightly sleep-deprived and feeling overwhelmed and the neighborhood boys came in like a pack of animals and started howling and yapping and raiding our pantry and shooting Nerf bullets near my head, I may or may not have snapped, “JUST GO OUTSIDE! NOW! GET OUT!”
Obviously, no situation is perfect. There were still fights to referee. I still had to nag the kids to brush their teeth and bring their dishes to the sink and stop leaving their clothes on the floor like slobs, THE LAUNDRY BASKET IS RIGHT THERE. I hated figuring out lunches. And I had to turn off the TV, or take away their electronics, a few too many times.
There was so much more good than bad, though. For the first time in their lives, they had the luxury of sleeping in during summer break. They played baseball in the backyard and basketball in the driveway for hours. They got to know the neighborhood kids better, and I got to know their parents better. They figured out the ice cream truck’s schedule. They got a little taste of independence when I gave them the green light to ride their bikes to friends’ houses (and YES, BEN, YOU HAVE TO WEAR YOUR HELMET).
When I wasn’t on deadline, I tried to make the most of our freedom. We went kayaking and paddle-boating with friends. We went to two (overpriced) area water parks. We went fishing with my dad. The boys marched in the local Fourth of July parade. We biked to Dairy Queen. We set up a giant inflatable waterslide in the backyard. And we stayed busy as a family, too. We went to Valleyfair with my brother and SIL. We camped in Wisconsin for a family reunion. Aaron and I went to his colleague’s wedding reception in Minneapolis and ordered an Uber for the first time! (I was so in my element on that dance floor.) We spent an obscene amount of time at our good friends’ house on the lake. (We didn’t hang out with them until Adam started playing basketball with their son, even though I went to junior high with Jill. Now Adam and their son are besties and we call them our second family.) We went on a road trip to South Dakota and Wyoming with my extended family and stayed in a rustic Wild West house, spent many hours exploring the area, and got caught in a wicked hailstorm while out hiking. (We saw some beautiful scenery and wildlife, too, but I think we’ll remember that hailstorm because OMG. It hurts like a B to get hit with flying ice balls when you have nowhere to hide.) We introduced our Green Bay friends to the magic of the State Fair, then spent 11 hours there. Aaron and I went back, just adults, to see Dessa. (Twice a summer is my State Fair limit. Once for cookies and beer; another for music and beer.) We spent two jam-packed days in Duluth with college pals, touring the town via bike. We braved the elements for Adam and Ben’s baseball games and tournaments, from freezing rain—one boy was crying he was so cold, to sweltering heat—when people were using their umbrellas for shade. We bonded with the other traveling parents. We stayed at a hotel with Ben’s team, where he proudly showed off his sunburn while in the swimming pool ... like some twisted badge of honor (MOM GUILT. I learned my lesson about rigorously applying sunscreen after that!). We brought the kids to four different basketball camps. Aaron grilled a lot. We stayed overnight at my dear friend Karla’s place for our annual high school party, which happened to fall on Adam’s 12th birthday. (It probably goes without saying, but it is such a blessing to have best friends with kids close in age.) We attended our first National Night Out and haven’t seen any of those neighbors since (was it us?!). We hosted a big summer party and smaller get-togethers. We celebrated Ben, Aaron and Adam’s birthdays, Father’s Day, and went to birthday parties for nieces and nephews. We bet on horses. We went to a Twins game. We went mini golfing. We ate ice cream.
I know it’s boring to read a long list of “what I did over summer break” but I need to capture these memories before they slip into the void of Nothingness. The boys won’t always be this young and I want to remember what I can. I want to remember their innocence, how they yell, “Mom, come sit by me!” when they’re on the couch in their little size 10/12 flannel PJ bottoms and t-shirts, and how they want me to rub their backs before bed, or comb their hair after a shower or bath. I want to remember how they believe they’re going to marry me some day, even though I try to explain that I’m already married and it’s not legal and I’m too old and it’s weird because, you know, we’re related and they’ll change their minds when they meet the right girls. “It's legal to marry your family in Alabama,” Adam told me with a straight face. “I asked Tanner on the bus.” (He talks about marrying me when he’s on the bus? Oh boy.)
Ben will just smile and say, “I already met the right girl.”
They’re so innocent in some ways, and then—when I see them playing football in the backyard with Aaron—they seem so strong and capable. I felt a little pang of sadness the last time I watched them play. They don’t really need me ... not the way they once did. It happens inch by inch and going up clothes size by clothes size; in losing baby teeth, in suddenly pronouncing words correctly, in no longer wearing adorable Halloween costumes, in going from cute little Velcro shoes to flashy basketball shoes, in graduating from car seats to seat belts, in losing interest in kiddy songs and listening to pop hits on the radio, in leaving behind One Fish, Two Fish and Llama Llama and the Belly Button Book and picking up Harry Potter and Dogman and Amulet. They are only young for such a short time, and then
They grow up.
I guess this blog is my way of holding onto my little boys as long as I can.
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| Shiner #4! |
