Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

work

Workiversary

One year ago, I went to work.

That’s such an ordinary statement, especially now, after a year has passed, but at the time, it felt big. Like, really big. And important.

It had been nearly a month of clearances and trainings and paperwork leading up to that day, and I remember walking out of my orientation the day before with an ID in my hand and a kinda sorta plan for the next day. Ready or not, the job was waiting for me.

My memory is fuzzy about a lot of things from this past year, mostly because there are so many experiences. I remember how quite a few of my first days were two-hour delays, which was an extra measure of grace as I learned my job, although it made getting into any kind of routine difficult for a few weeks. And I remember thinking how fortunate I was to have a job with the same schedule as my kids, especially on these delay days. I’m not good with spur-of-the-moment plan changes that require extra effort for decisions like “what do we do with the kids?”

Two weeks into my job, before I’d even received a paycheck, I wrote this longish post about what it meant for our family to have a second income, even if it was small. (It’s kind of a financial history of our family, and it is some of the rawest stuff I’ve ever written.)

A year later, I can still say that this job has been more than just a paycheck. If it was just a paycheck, I’m not sure I’d still be doing it. The extra money has been nice for our family, yes. We’ve reduced our debt load though not completely eliminated it, and we were able to make wise decisions to benefit our family’s overall wellbeing, not just get by or survive. (The differences between thriving and surviving and huge, and it is hard to bridge that gap.)

But beyond the money, this job has awakened something inside of me.

When I was little, I would dream of being a teacher. (It’s the same life goal my daughter has now.) I don’t know if it was because I liked school and I mostly looked up to my teachers or because I sort of liked being “in charge.” Or maybe it was because school was my whole world and I didn’t really know anything different. Somehow, this “dream” faded and I decided I was too shy to stand in front of a group of children (whatever their age) and lead them day-in and day-out.

When I think back on it, I wasn’t just shy, I also wasn’t confident. If I had attempted being a teacher earlier in life, I don’t think it would have worked out. Even at age 40, going to school every day, where there are teenage students, is a test of confidence. Mostly I consider it all practice for the fast-approaching days of parenting teenagers. 

People have asked me if I would consider going back to school to get my teaching degree and if they had seen how much I initially resisted applying for this job, they might not ask. Truthfully, I’m not ready to even look into it. I’m not sure it’s what I’m meant to do and as long as I don’t get any more information, I can’t consider it further. (This is me sticking my head in the sand. )

While I might not have made a good teacher in my 20s and 30s, for some reason, being a paraprofessional (I heard a friend call it “parapro” for short and this makes me sound like a superhero, so this abbreviation stays.) in my 40s is the exact right fit.

Maybe it’s the kids I serve. They tug at my heartstrings, and I have lots of room in my heart for them. I am at a place in my life where I care deeply for others. (This has not always been the case.) Much internal work led to this, but I feel really lucky that five days a week I get to act on my compassion for others in tangible ways.

I was so scared that my new job would somehow diminish what I think is my life’s work as a writer. That somehow my purpose for living would seem less. But the truth is I feel more alive now than I ever have. I can look at the time I spent at home, trying to put words to the page, trying to make something happen with my writing, binge-watching Netflix and scheduling coffee dates in the city with more honesty now. While I’m glad I had the opportunity to rediscover myself after years of stay-at-home parenting, and while I cherished the freedom those days allowed and the experiences I was able to have working with refugees, overall I was drowning a little bit. I can see the slow slide into something in the neighborhood of depression. I know myself well enough to know that if I don’t have to leave the house, I won’t. Comfy clothes, sporadic showers, too many snacks–this was my life, and it wasn’t the dream I tried to make it out to be.

Photo by Hannah Busing on Unsplash

These five hours I work outside the house now force me to do a lot of good things. Interact with adults, for example. Wear clothes that look good. And make better use of my time. When my days are full, there is no “I’ll do it tomorrow” for important things. (I mean, I still do put things off, but not as frequently.) I have to budget my time. I have to make use of the two hours after work before the kids come home. This is when I run or squeeze in an errand. I wake up most days at 6 to get some writing in before we start getting ready for school and work. Before, I would crawl out of bed about the same time as the kids because all I felt I really needed to do was get them ready for school and on the bus. Then it was “me” time. (And that often meant more coffee, second breakfast, and/or a trip into the city.)

I feel more productive and purposeful. Maybe more tired, too, but not always. It’s a funny thing, how this work doesn’t drain me even though it requires more of my mental and physical energy than staying at home did. I am energized by the work and therefore able to keep moving, most days, when I get home while still being appropriately tired at night.

Initially, I thought I was taking this job for the good of my family. For the extra income. And I was. But I didn’t realize that I was actually doing it for me. How much I needed to do something that wasn’t directly for my husband or my kids. These hours at work are all mine and I think it makes my conversation a little more interesting because I have done something all day and I have new work friends I can tell my family about. How for a few hours a day, my life is about something more than what’s inside the walls of my house.

And I think I serve my family better now because my whole world isn’t about them. (This dynamic is still a little bit mysterious to me because I know other women who serve their families so well by staying home. We are all different with different needs.)

So, it’s been a year. And I’m celebrating that because my life is richer for having this job, and it was the first of many steps I needed to take to be more me.

Why we can’t all be stars {Be Who You Are, part 1}

A few weeks ago we took our kids to see the newest Star Wars movie. It’s only been since last summer that they’ve caught up on the originals (Parts 4,5, and 6) and last fall when they saw The Force Awakens. Like many kids their age, they love the characters and stories and have started collecting memorabilia. (Our son got a Lego Millennium Falcon for his last birthday. He’s 8.)

So, on a recent night when I was losing my cool because of all the video games winter has forced us to play, the two of them and I took to the couch for a coloring session. Music often helps to calm us so we chose a John Williams station on Amazon music. We heard not only our favorite theme music from Star Wars but all the other masterpieces Williams has created. (The list is longer than I could have told you before that night.)

Photo by Isaac Ibbott on Unsplash

We got to talking about the music and how it adds to the movie experience. I asked them how the Imperial March made them feel when they heard it. How different would it be, I asked, if when Darth Vader marches on screen the music was more like a circus theme. They laughed and laughed.

John Williams is a talented composer, and I know that he gets a lot of credit for his work. But I wonder how many people who have watched the movies featuring his scores fully appreciate his contributions. I mean, what would Superman or Indiana Jones be without their recognizable theme songs?

In some cases, I feel like the answer might be “nothing.” The music adds a layer of depth taking an interesting character and making him (or her) unforgettable.

 

—

My new job is a supporting role. I’m not a teacher. I’m an aide. My official title has a fancier name, but my day-in, day-out duties are assisting someone who has more knowledge, experience and credentials than I do.

Ten years ago, that might have bothered me, but I feel exactly the opposite. I have never felt more perfectly suited for a job in all my years of work. (I have come to realize that my writing is more art/calling than job, but that’s a post for another day.) I show up. I help where I’m needed. I go home satisfied because my presence mattered in a real and tangible way. (Some days, it feels more intangible, but that’s rare.)

In the world where most of us live (I was going to say “real world” but Hollywood is part of the real world and acting is a viable way to make a living if that is your gift and talent), there aren’t a lot of prizes for a job well done. There’s little recognition for a supporting role in life. No one is going to hand me a trophy for showing up to work every day and giving it my best effort and maybe making a difference in someone’s life.

But the truth is I don’t need a trophy. Because I’m doing exactly what I need to be doing with my life.

Photo by Ariel Lustre on Unsplash

I wouldn’t make it past the audition round of American Idol and I would fall flat on my face in the meantime. Even if by some miracle I was cast in some kind of TV show or movie, I would be miserable. I don’t like people looking at me all the time and I’m definitely not a performer. (Unless I feel really comfortable with you and can crack a bunch of terrible jokes in succession. Or if I’m telling a really interesting story.)

I couldn’t work in the medical field because I don’t like bodily fluids and I have an overactive gag reflex. Even my job as a journalist, which I worked for almost 10 years, was a not-quite-right fit. I am less detail-oriented than I would like to think, and I often missed asking the obvious questions.

One month into my new job and I feel more “accomplished” than I did in 10 years of journalism. But then again, I don’t think I could have done this job all those years ago. I needed more time to figure out who I was than who I thought I wanted to be.

—

It’s awards season. The TV channels are full of Oscars and Globes and Emmys and Grammys, and I am always six steps behind what’s new and popular, but I have a casual interest in these things. There are recognitions for all kinds of behind-the-scenes contributions, some we never even hear about. And because we focus so much on the stars–the leading actors and actresses, especially, the awards for supporting roles sometimes feel like a lesser prize.

(Am I alone in thinking this?)

I wonder what kind of message we send to kids of this generation when we spend so much time adoring the stars–in movies, sports and music. Why can’t being good at something ordinary that perfectly suits us be enough?

—

I suspect the answer to that question lies in part with our inability to really know ourselves. From the time we are young, we are given clues about who and what people want us to be. Most of the time, we mean no harm when we comment on a child’s personality, but I wonder how much of it shapes who they become. Or who they think they have to become.

In the last year, I’ve become obsessed (I don’t think that’s too strong of a word) with the Enneagram. It’s a personality assessment, I guess, but it’s more like a mirror into your true self. I have learned more about myself through the Enneagram in the last year-plus than I have maybe in the last decade. (I hope that doesn’t sound like an exaggeration.) I know more about why I do some of the things I do and how I need to change. Maybe most importantly, especially in light of what I’ve been writing about supporting roles, I know that my presence matters. That might not sound like any big revelation but’s that probably because you aren’t the same Enneagram type as me.

Knowing that my presence makes a difference in the world, that my voice matters, it changes how I go about my day, and it convinces me that this support job I do five days a week is an appropriate use of my life.

I’m almost 40 years old and I’m just learning this. I hope that you are further ahead in this area than I am. But if you’re not, could I encourage you to invest in learning about yourself? The more you know about who you are, what you’re suited for, and why you do what you do, the more likely you’ll be to find your role in the world. It might be a starring one. It might be a supporting one. It might be one no else understands.

Photo by Nicole Smith on Unsplash

But as long as it’s the right one for you, the world will be a better place.