What I want to be

I want to be a writer when I grow up, and on most days I would also like to be a trained counselor.  Somedays I think I would love to be an ER doctor. 

This might be ok, if I was in junior high.  When you are meant to dream.  In junior high I was just trying to survive my drama filled life with my dysfunctional parents.  I did ok in school, but mostly I read.  All I did was read.  I wasn’t thinking ahead to when I was in college of after.  My parents weren’t thinking of any future career I might have.  So I never made those concrete decisions of what to be.

When I left college, knowing I wanted to write (back then in PR), I got a job and my boss was kind of awful, but my co-workers were great.  So then I got another job and loved it.  My boss loved me and so did bosses after that.  If you are type A and can organize yourself and stay on top of things and let your boss know you can handle things, it’s usually ok.  Then I had children.  I wanted to be with my children, see their first everythings, go to the park, have playdates, read all that good stuff.

And I did and I am still doing that.  But now the kids are getting older and I have mommy needs a change-ism.  I don’t know what I want to do.  I really just want to write and volunteer.  I don’t think I am cut out for corporate life.  My job will have to be a non-profit.  But it’s hard because I was someone who was driven by work.  Now I am driving to buy diapers and milk and cat food.  I was always climbing the ladder and now I am stopping my kids from climbing the sofas and the curtains. 

I just feel like I am not enough in this world.  I am not making $ so to working moms I am probably a loafer.  To my friends, I have this awesome set up where I don’t really do much but play with my kids all day.  Which is not true, I think I work harder now than I ever did- physical work is a lot harder than mental work.  My husband expects me to do everything around the house where before we shared and he kind of makes me think he thinks all I do is loaf from him, which I don’t because I work hard to save money and be frugal. 

Then there’s the greed.  That awful beast.  If I still worked, we could be living a lot larger than we do.  Nice vacations several times a year, lots of eating out, nice clothes more often, a bigger home, better schools- all that.  So sometimes and more recently for some reason I feel that ugly green eyed jealous monster bugging me out. 

So is working to feel important, get help with chores, have more of everything and to garnish the respect of co-workers worth it?  Should I just be happy and focused on the here and now?  How do I do that?  This is one aspect of contentment I am going to have a hard time with.


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