Unambitious

Every once in a while, I jump onto LinkedIn to see if a person I no longer have access to through other social media has an account there so that I can check in with them. Today, I happened to notice that an old friend of mine had founded a new business, called Beyond Motherhood. Amy's a very neat person, and it's super cool that she's helping women figure out what they want to do with their lives. But a lot of things I have realized about myself recently have helped me know that this site isn't for me. 

For one, there's this quote: "Motherhood is holy work, but the hands-on, active phase only lasts 20-25 years for most women. If you still have half your life left when the kids leave home, doesn’t that make you think you have a purpose beyond motherhood?" When Mal is 25, I will be 67. I will not have half of my life left, unless medicine progresses ridiculously rapidly over the next couple of decades. (I know this is one reason she said "most" and not "all." Then there's the moms of special needs kids. And the ones who become grandmas raising grandkids. Etc.)

Beyond that, though... I have this pattern of basically not caring about jobs. I mean, I'm an over-achiever and if I have a job, I'll do what I need to do, and I will try to do it very well. I will probably even do more than is strictly necessary. But I've never had ambitions, or fantasies about a dream career.

Well, I wanted to be an astronaut until I realized that you had to have uncorrected 20/20 vision (at the time; this has changed) and it broke my heart. Then I wanted to be an actor until I was in college and saw what some people had to do to get jobs. Then I realized, "Oh, I don't want it *that* bad." And I'm not talking about anything super shady, just the networking and knowing who to know and interrupting someone's dinner plans to insist on an audition.

My first job, at age 16, was at a Kentucky Fried Chicken, or KFC for you young 'uns. I was very bad at being able to tell the chicken breasts from the chicken thighs, and I got so stressed working the drive-through. I could not focus on a conversation with the person in front of me while also taking an order over the headphones. And I could NOT upsell. "Would you like a hot buttered corn-on-the-cob with that?" If they wanted it, I'm sure they would have ordered it. Fortunately, I got strep and my doctor told my mom it was probably from the filthy environment there, so I got to quit after six weeks.

Next, I worked at a grocery store. I did bagging at first, then went to (I kid you not) checker's school. I learned the codes for 200 different produce items, how to count up change in case something went wrong with the register's calculations, and also that I had to call someone to help me when someone bought alcohol, because I was too young to sell it. I worked with a good friend, and that was fun. 

Then I got what I felt was an upgrade and worked at TCBY for the remainder of my high school years. I adored that job. People who are going out for frozen yogurt are rarely in a bad mood. And we got to eat as much yogurt as we wanted, for free.

When I was in college, I worked at a baby and pregnancy clothing boutique, then a day care, and finally at Sonic. I LOVED working at Sonic. I was a carhop, so I got to be outside. I learned that if you're really nice and they're having a good day, sometimes people will tip you a generous amount. Man, what a wake-up call that was, and I apologize to every carhop I had as a teen because I genuinely had no idea.

After I graduated college (with a BA in theater, so that was a lucrative choice), people seemed shocked that I didn't immediately quit Sonic. I got tired of being asked, "When are you going to get a 'real' job?" so I applied for a starter position with the local newspaper, which was owned by the media group for which my dad worked as their HR director. In my interview, my boss told me, "I'm going to be honest with you: you're getting this job because of your maiden name."

So I was working in an office... but because of the Sonic tips, I was making LESS money. I felt like I'd been duped by the idea that somehow office work was more mature or honorable than running food.

The next job I had was because we moved, and I quit the newspaper. I signed up as a substitute teacher in the then-small town of Siloam Springs. It was irregular and stressful, and after one day subbing at a junior high, I called the office and told them I'd do elementary or high school but NEVER jr. high ever again.

Then we moved to Las Vegas, and I got a job working at Sam's Club. I was at the registers first, then worked freezer/cooler for couple of years. When the company decided that I was too much trouble and wanted me out (I had a problematic coworker and kept reporting him for creating a hostile work environment with his incessant sex talk), they moved me to electronics with no training, and let me flounder answering questions about computers about which I had no specialized experience. Then they wrote me up when I wasn't "the same employee" I'd been when I was helping customers locate the frozen chicken I'd just stocked an hour beforehand.

The job I got after this was the one I had the longest: I started in a temp-to-hire position as a receptionist for Terra West Property Management. I got fully hired, served as the receptionist for a few years, took a blip of time off to work as an "expediter" for one of our tech vendors (I had to call the lead tech up every morning and make sure he was awake and out of bed to be on time for his appointments). Then I returned to Terra West as a property manager. I got my real estate license, and enjoyed the work enough... but I didn't take it nearly seriously enough for one of our biggest clients. He insisted at one point that the company fire me, which they did not. But they did bury me far away from him in a completely different department. I worked as the main internal tech person at the company for almost a year, before I had D and quit work entirely.

Kind of.

The idea was that I would stay home and D's dad would find a job to make up for our shortfall, as I was the primary bread-winner at the time. That didn't really pan out, so we got a job together working as house parents for Girls and Boys Town of Nevada. Staring a job like that with a 2-month-old was stupid. We lasted half a year.

I was mostly home for 9 years. When we moved to Texas, I signed up to do some mystery shopping. Over time, I signed with more companies and typically had at least 6 jobs a week. I loved it because D could come with me, and I could accept jobs as I willed. I often didn't do the jobs that didn't seem worth it, and I relished the jobs that included things like spending a night at Great Wolf Lodge; or having dinner at Rainforest Cafe, then doing their internal Build-a-Bear. We got to go to Ripley's Believe It or Not! and Mme. Toussaud's Wax Museum. I did a battery of mystery shops at Six Flags once. I'd pack a bunch of fast food jobs in a big old circle around north Texas, and D and I would get food and listen to the Harry Potter audiobooks.

And then something kind of unbelievable happened. I'd been writing skits and things for church for years, and from that ended up with the opportunity to write for commercials and even a television trailer for a reality show called "The Shot" that was to feature former athletes who'd almost made it, and were competing for a second chance. 

But something interesting happened during that time: 1) I didn't really enjoy the writing when I was getting paid. It wasn't as fun as, say, writing this blog. 2) When the paid gigs came, that was cool... but when they didn't I wasn't upset. I'd written some for "Travel Weekly" when I lived in Las Vegas. That was very lucrative. It was infrequent, and I just never thought, "This writing thing is great. I could totally freelance for a living."

When I got divorced, I needed to work. I didn't want D to have to go to school amidst all of the other upheaval, so first I just had friends hire me to do cleaning and organizing. That was going pretty well, and then I got the call from the insurance agency offering me a job as... a receptionist (again!), and with an empty adjoining office for my kiddo. It was perfect.

After I'd been there a while, my boss started encouraging me to get my insurance license. I couldn't legally sign people up for policies unless I had my license, even though I was doing most of the practical work up to actually starting the policy for auto insurance at the time. Eventually, I dragged my feet enough that he gave me a deadline. I studied, and I passed the test on my first try. Minimum score to pass: 70. My score: 70.

They were kind enough to retain me when I moved to Austin, which, as you might imagine, put a dent in my "reception" abilities. I did customer service, virtual filing, and some newsletter and website stuff remotely. My boss again encouraged me to try to sell here in Austin, and he'd move me to commission, and I had the potential to make a lot more money. But I was satisfied with my reliable pay and familiar work.

Once again, I just didn't have higher aspirations. I was content.

I quit that job shortly before I had Mal, and have been full-time mumming ever since.

Then over the past few months, a friend of mine who is a copyeditor has been dropping hints about throwing some work my way. Finally, she told me that she had a book she thought I could help a guy with. I thought about it and talked it over with James, and realized that I had some editing baggage left over from another situation. But when I talked about this with my friend, she took it upon herself to decide that she'd pressured me too much (she hadn't) and that she wasn't going to mention it again.

I was *so* relieved. I wanted to want to do it. I thought the extra money might be nice. I wasn't confident I could commit any more than about 2 hours per day to it, and even then I wasn't sure where I was going to find those 2 hours. 

But I am just pretty satisfied with the pace of my life, and my responsibilities, and don't have any kind of drive to add anything new.

I have another friend who was very frustrated about having been put on light duty with a fire department where she worked after she'd had a baby. She could have stayed home on leave, but she wanted to get back into the action. She told me, "I am not the kind of person who can be satisfied with having gotten a load of dishes done during the day. I need something more." She ended up moving to another fire department so she could do actual fire stuff instead of just dispatch. And I'm glad she's getting the workouts and professional socializing that are so important to her.

I don't have that. I don't have the drive, or the need, or whatever it is that makes people antsy about being home.

When (if) my kids are up and out, I'm not particularly worried about what I'll do. I won't feel "aimless." I can think of MONTHS worth of stuff I could do if my time were strictly my own. I don't feel overwhelmed by the possibilities, or the unknown, and I am not worried that I need to be "more" than I am. I'd say that maybe I'm just lazy, except I'm not. I work hard every day. I guess I'm just not entrepreneurial or ambitious. I don't care what job I have, much, as long as it's not soul-sucking. If we need money, I'll go out and do something where I can work for a day, and come home and do whatever I want. If not, I can volunteer, and to out and take pictures, and maybe live in an RV again. 

I don't think that all people are called to be parents. I am glad that some people have work that they absolutely love so much that it's a big part of who they are. I definitely want my services and food and healthcare and everything else delivered by people who can't imagine what they'd do without their jobs. I appreciate that in the folks who have it. I'm just not one of them.

Speaking of taking photographs, I wanted to share this one because I love it so much. These are a trio of young ladies at a homeschool hangout. I love how "Texan" it looks. And I love how it shows that you can do mostly nothing and have a great time doing it.