It's A Bargain

Perhaps I will accept less pay or late pay or no pay, if only I can spend my hours working instead of looking for work.
 
Maybe I will accept computer games and video viewing and staring aimlessly at the ceiling and less than tidy rooms, if only I can know that my kids are safe and healthy and happy.
 
Perhaps I will accept rejection of and ignoring of and general lack of response to resumes and letters and reels I send out into the world, if only I can be reminded once in a while of some of the pretty good things I've done and all of the pretty good things I can still do.
 
Maybe I will accept piles of laundry to do and dinner to make and organizing to attempt, if only someone will notice.
 
Perhaps I will make the requisite phone calls and sort through the piles of paperwork if, at least sometimes, I get worthwhile results.
 
Life is often a series of bargains--ongoing decisions about what is or isn't worth it to us. Sometimes, even the simplest things become choices to be made. And sometimes, what starts out looking not so great turns out to be the best bargain of all. So be careful what you say you won't do. Sometimes a little bargaining leads you to the most interesting choices you've ever made.

Something Will Be Different

There was no ski trip, no amusement park trip, no beach trip. There was nothing life-changing and nothing to remember forever. And yet, as the latest of our school breaks is about to end, I feel somehow changed. Perhaps it is that the week passed with no work for me, meaning that my kids' lack of structure simply mirrored my own. Perhaps it was the awareness of both times repeating, and times changing. Maybe it was the books read and the talks had in rare moments of stillness, or those read and had in the moments of chaos that only lack of normal routine can bring.
 
Come tomorrow, I will likely feel the emptiness mixed with relief that sending my kids back to their normal lives always brings me. But this time, something will be different. I know it won't be a sunburn or a windburn--it wasn't that kind of vacation. It will have the chill of times past and the hint of the warmth of what is to come. It will soon dissolve and re-form into a daily routine. But because of what it was, and what it wasn't--and because that's just how life is--something will be different.

Nobody Tells You

When you're young, and you desperately want mail addressed to you, nobody tells you that mostly mail is bills that need to be paid.

When you're young, and you want a job so that you can make a lot of money to spend on whatever you want, nobody tells you that jobs don't always last and that a lot of money becomes not that much by the time the taxes and rent are paid.

When you're young, and you envy the grownups who get to choose how to spend their own time, nobody tells you that they're not so much choosing as grasping for moments in between all their "have to's."

When you're young, and you're told that you're smart or gifted or talented, nobody tells you that someday, smart and gifted and talented may not be enough.

When you're young, and you just wish school would be over, nobody tells you that even some of the hardest tests you take in school might turn out to seem easier than the tests you'll face in life.

When you're young, and you think that you can conquer the world, nobody tells you that there will be days when you think the world will conquer you.

When you're young, and you think that the best is yet to come, nobody tells you if that's true or not, because the thing is, nobody knows--you just have to grow up and find out for yourself. Each and every day.

May I Have Your Attention, Please?

Did you ever notice how many times in a day you jump to attention? The alarm buzzes in the morning, and you jump to attention. Your kids need breakfast or lunch or help finding socks, and you jump to attention. Your work calls to say "come earlier" or "come later" or "don't come at all," and you are at the ready, giving your full attention.

The tricky thing is, it's hard to give your real attention to all those things at once. And sometimes, you're so busy paying attention to one that you can't possibly do justice to the others. So, how do you decide what actually deserves your attention? Is it the work, or the socks? Or is it something else completely, something that may not buzz or beep or yell, but merits even more of you than any of the matters that keep you jumping?

One of the lessons I have learned, slowly, over the last few years of work limbo is the management of my attention. The number of people and tasks demanding my attention grows each day--I can't control that. What I can control, however, is how I react. I may jump out of bed each morning when the alarm buzzes, but I don't have to jump every time there's a hint of a work change, one that often turns out to be no more than a hint. I may not need to jump to attention for every missing sock, but I have become better at focusing my attention at home when it matters and not letting my attention stray to things that don't matter.

There will always be people and situations and tasks that will be screaming, "May I have your attention, please!" The key, as far as I can tell, is knowing when it's important to jump to attention, and when it's enough just to listen but keep our attention where it is. Have I got your attention? Good. Now it's your turn to decide where your attention really needs to be.

Waiting For A Sign

I can't always sit and read for a long time. Perhaps it is modern parenthood, perhaps it is a short attention span, perhaps it just comes down to too much going on in the here and now to immerse myself in the there and then.

This week, however, I had the opportunity to read Waiting For A Sign, a middle grade/young adult novel by my friend Esty Schachter. As the hours flew by, I was taken both back to teenage experiences that suddenly seemed like yesterday and into situations so far from my own childhood that they left me speechless. The "must get something done" part of me surrendered to the "let myself be moved" part. I learned, I cried, I felt powerless and powerful, all at the same time. 

Sometimes I question whether I've taken the right paths. Sometimes I wonder if I've followed the wrong things, listened to the wrong people, or squandered all the best opportunities. Sometimes, I wonder if I can trust my own instincts. And often, I hope that there will be some indication that what I'm doing at any given moment is right.

Reading Waiting For A Sign reminded me that there is always time to make a change, to discover yourself, and to make a difference. Whether you are a teenager or a modern parent. Or just someone waiting for a sign...

One Singular Focus

Being a working parent is hard. Being a working but not working parent of three is really hard, at least sometimes. Wrapped up with the coordinating work schedules with school schedules is spending real time with each child, and wrapped up with all of that is focusing enough on yourself to get from not working to working. When you are meeting a bus, it feels as though you should be sending a resume. When you are planning a birthday party, it feels as though you should be planning your approach to a new company. The result, in general, is that you can have singular focus for only brief times, hopefully long enough times to accomplish something. The by-product, in general, is that you feel guilty much of the time, either for doing too little of the right things, or for doing too much of the wrong ones.
 
Over the last few weeks, although I have certainly struggled to balance the various tasks, and have realized that "accomplished multitasker" should probably go on my resume, I have also had some moments, even hours, when I had singular focus. Whether it was a several-hour stretch focusing on the needs of one child, or an hour when I thought about nothing but an email about one particular job, I have been reminded that it is actually possible to have singular focus in a multitasking world. Sometimes, that means a phone that doesn't emerge from my pocket for an hour. Sometimes it is the result of a time limit or an undeniable need. However it comes about, it tends to end with a feeling of satisfaction that is hard to match with multitasking. When we spend a little time with singular focus, we come out with renewed dedication to a person or a cause. When we exercise our singular focus, we realize that we don't have to respond to the insanity of our lives every moment. It's all still there when we emerge from our singular focus. We are just able to approach it in a different way, having come from the satisfaction of singular focus.
 
I suspect that most of my days will be the multitasking kind. Life just seems to demand that. But if I can include moments now and then for single tasking, I imagine that both the working and the parenting and the overall satisfaction will be a whole lot easier to manage.

Second (And Third and Fourth) Opinions

Did you ever notice that you go to the same people for advice all the time? It's not too surprising. If people have advised you well in the past, why wouldn't you keep listening? And if you return to the same people, you can generally pick up where you left off. There is no need to review your whole "back story." Your "advisor" already knows it. It's simple, it's dependable, it's perfect. Most of the time.

Don't get me wrong--I am immensely grateful for my "go-to" people--friends and family members who know me well enough (and have enough patience with me) to talk through work and life situations, not once, but many times. They have helped me negotiate choices, practice interviews, proofread letters, and make it through hard situations, and I appreciate that. Sometimes, however, we need to step beyond our normal "advisors," to look for a different perspective, even if getting that perspective means having to tell our story all over again. While our "regulars" may know us so well that they can fill in the things we forget to mention, new listeners require us to relate our story from the beginning. They force us to think through the pieces we usually gloss over. Whether their sage advice is really sage at all, getting that advice requires us to verbalize our issues. It forces us to dig a little deeper and express a little more. And sometimes, that extra thought, particularly when combined with a new set of opinions, can allow us to think in new, different, and often enlightening ways.

I wouldn't give up my regular "advisors" for the world. They keep me focused and on track. They have the patience to hear the same stories over and over and to understand why they are told. They know me well enough to talk things through in shorthand. But I was reminded this week that an outside opinion can be a fantastic addition to a decisionmaking process. When we have to explain, we learn. When we have to look beyond the normal answers, we often start asking beyond the normal questions. And perhaps we find things we never knew existed.

So, to my normal advisors and to the new ones, I say thanks. I make it through my choices because of both of you. I learn to tell my story, and I see it understood, by both of you. I see things more clearly because you point them out differently. And ultimately, the paths that I take include your advice, all along the way.