Did I Pick the Wrong Job?

It’s been a while since I’ve had time to write for This Fit Mom! I’ve been doing a lot of teaching and training and writing and mom-ing and just haven’t had any minutes left over for my own site. But after some life rearranging I’m finding myself with a little more breathing room.

I’ve never had a clear idea of a career path for myself. I know lots of people who decided they wanted to be doctors or academics or therapists or lawyers or editors, went to school to learn how to do just that, and then went out and got those jobs. It seems peaceful and satisfying to know what you want to do and do it. Of course I also know people who thought they knew what they wanted to do, went to school to learn how, and discovered they actually didn’t want to do that job. And I know people who just drifted into stuff and seem happy enough. I’m more of a drifter. I’ve never just known.

I love writing and fitness and, lucky me, I get to do both and get paid for it! But it’s definitely my responsibility to piece together my work life. I don’t go to an office every week day where I work an uninterrupted 8 hours. There are positives and negatives to that, which I’m sure you can imagine or relate to.

But sometimes I lie awake at night and worry. I fret about job opportunities and get scared about the fact that I won’t be able to do fitness work forever. I worry that I won’t be able to suss out paying writing gigs or that people won’t want to read what I’ve written. I feel like maybe I’ve messed up because I don’t get benefits or have a 401k. I think about the time (not too long from now) when both of my kids will be in school and get the feeling of stepping off a precipice. It’s scary. What’s beyond all I’ve known for the past seven years? What’s past the horizon?

But then I remember that filling out a W2 and going to an office doesn’t really give anyone any more job security than I have. Companies go bankrupt, downsize, or change locations all the time. People get sick of doing the same thing every day and choose to uproot. It also seems like people from our generation rarely stick to one thing anyway.

I just have to grit my teeth and trust that I’ll figure it out as I go along. It’s dumb to panic that the plane is going to crash unless it’s actually going down.

Most importantly, I shouldn’t waste the precious time that I have on worrying about the future. I still have a lot of days to practice my squatting and play Candyland with my boys (who cheat horribly). The afternoon light here in L.A. is so gorgeous. Right this second it spills across my keyboard and sets my 3 year old’s hair glimmering as he sits on my lap, playing with an old garlic press.

So, worst case scenario, maybe it doesn’t get any better than this? And in that case, I think I’ll stop thinking about it and be here. I’ll let my worry be a tiny gold earring swirling down the drain. A scarf in a high breeze. A grocery list sucked out of an open car window. A plastic sand shovel pulled out to sea. An airplane shooting through the sky, making it all the way home, all the way to a strange new place. Staying aloft the whole way and making it safely to its destination.