Summer vacation is officially over. The kids have been back to school for a week now. The morning air carries that old, familiar chill of autumn. And my husband has requested my presence back at work. Really? I thought I was finally “out”…
This past May, I called a meeting with Pat and our HR/organizational consultant, Courtney. I asked that she attend so there would be a 3rd party to mediate. (Working with your spouse is not always easy, and we had been less than discreet with our conflict in the office. In fact, our "disagreements" had reached an all-time high (low?). Our employees were suffering and our marriage was teetering as a consequence.) I needed to share how very frustrated I was with our business and its impact on our marriage, my self, and our family. Because all my earlier attempts to phase out of the business were unsuccessful (I’d tried over 6 different times to “leave” in the past 2 years), I was willing to pull the ultimate card—our business or our marriage. And while I didn’t want to leave Pat in a bind, I was simply at my breaking point.
The three of us sat outside on the local Panera’s patio. I began, "Look, I love you but I don't love the business. I have not contributed in ways we originally hoped for, and worse, my daily activities are unforgiving. I can't handle one more inane client phone call asking why I don't have a dump receipt to prove our sub removed a gas can from a property. I can't handle responding to one more insulting client demand to lower our bid prices--it's a BID for a reason, and no, our sub is not working for free!" Pat starts to interject with the specifics of some ridiculous work order when Courtney says, "Stop. Look at Nikki. She's literally curled her body into a knot as you were talking. Nikki?"
Holding my legs to my chest, I say with a finality that brings calm, "I'm done, for now. I choose Pat, not property preservation. For now, at least. I hope you understand."
So, with the present request to return to the office--to act as an office manager, help train new employees and subs, develop performance plans, to “make the employees more productive and efficient”—I’m faced with the "what have you accomplished in this time off anyway?" While I needed to recover from the stress and disappointment of property preservation, and wanted to redefine how I’m to contribute to the world and model for my children how good work can inspire and create and reform, the reality that my “vacation” has not necessary birthed any new ideas, routines, or income stands likes an insurmountable brick wall. 'Am I working outside of the home or Helix?' No. 'Am I regularly blogging?' No. 'Are you bringing any income to the household?' No.
“What the hell do you do all day?” Ok, Pat didn’t explicitly ask it, but the enthymeme feels like the elephant sitting in the living room. Perhaps it's my guilt, guilt derived from living in and coming from a family that considers work a necessary evil, not an (indulgent) fulfilling of one's passion.
As my sister, Cindy, says, "Helix is your family's livelihood. You can't quit because you don't enjoy it. Who the hell enjoys their work? That's why it's called, WORK!"
As my father says, "You job is to support your husband however you can. You have children counting on you."
As Pat says, "Your absence has caused great financial strain. You did the work of 3 processors, and now we have to pay those processors to take your place. That's a loss of income for our household."
Alas, competing paradigms of work are at work. On the one hand, Pat and I own a business that supports many households other than our own; people rely on us to feed their families. I did commit to Helix when I signed the Inc. papers. I implicitly ask my husband to own the lion’s share of responsibilities and bullshit each day I forgo the office. Bills do not get paid on their own…So I need to pull my share, lace up the ole’ bootstraps, and get my hands dirty, again. Get back to work!
On the other hand, I see how the trappings of middle class demand that we work harder at work that we don’t necessarily enjoy. (That I both enjoy and despise these indulgences does not help.) I see that our business is really not our business and in fact our clients’ demands shape how we work in ways that are simply not always humane. I don’t want to be part of the problem anymore; I want to be part of the solution.
Betwixt and between worlds of work…
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
The Power of One
While someone once said there’s comfort in numbers, I don’t think they were talking about careers. In fact, from the perspective of a 4-year old, I’d surmise that there is comfort in the opposite—the power of one, career.
This past Saturday, the kids and I were walking through the Denver zoo with our family friend, CB, and her 4-year old son, Ben. The boys began scouring one of the habitats for a baby zebra when Ben announced he wanted to be a zookeeper when he grew up. CB asked my son, TT, also 4, what he wanted to be. No surprise, “I want to be a zookeeper too!” he proudly proclaimed. Of course, I had never heard him utter this desire once prior.
As we pushed our way through the encroaching 100degree mark, and our pace began to slow as a consequence, I noticed all the messaging aimed at our children. From hats to pins to plastic tumblers, for a price, any child could be walking around the park as a “junior zookeeper.” Since TT himself can’t read yet, nor, I assume, most of the preschool crowd wandering the exhibits, I deduced that it’s not parents purchasing mere souvenirs, but caregivers actually buying a career aspiration for their kids . “Here Bobby Sue, you’re now a ‘junior zookeeper in training’!”
And she grins with her newfound “job,” and hat or pin or plastic tumbler.
TT didn’t get a souvenir that day, or at least not the “junior zookeeper” type. And in fact, his “I want to be a zookeeper” mantra quickly changed Sunday to “Momma, can I be a truck driver when I grown up?” as he watched 18-wheelers roll down the freeway on our drive to Costco. Ah, recency theory at work.
While I understand the power of immediacy for a 4-year old, I didn’t see any crossover in TT’s thinking. For example, he could be a zookeeper that drives animals from habitat to habitat, or trucks to natural lands to find or save endangered breeds. But these options were as remote as the lost sock in the laundry. And given the proverbial, cultural questions of “what are you going to be when you grow up?” to “what do you do?”, it should come as no surprise that children and adults alike struggle to define their work.
While I’ve worn many hats over the years, from waitress to student to professor, at any given time, I had some “thing” work-wise to call my own. When asked the question ‘what do you do?,’ I could always answer, and I always answered in the singular. “I’m an Assistant Professor.” “I’m a Business Owner.” I have never said, “I’m a wannabe writer, a wife, a business owner, a mother of 2 young children, a dabbler in art and design, and a scourer of estate sales.” In fact, now that I am all those things and no longer have a “work path,” I have avoided all situations where I’d have to answer the proverbial, “What do you do?” question. Truth be told, being without a designated career path is a bit like being Waldo in the zebra habitat at the zoo. Disconcerting.
So how do I encourage a hybrid career to my young children when I too struggle over the absence of the self-possession of a defined career, income, job title, or otherwise, meaningful work outside the home? Or when I yearn, just like my son, for the singular “I want to be an X”?
This past Saturday, the kids and I were walking through the Denver zoo with our family friend, CB, and her 4-year old son, Ben. The boys began scouring one of the habitats for a baby zebra when Ben announced he wanted to be a zookeeper when he grew up. CB asked my son, TT, also 4, what he wanted to be. No surprise, “I want to be a zookeeper too!” he proudly proclaimed. Of course, I had never heard him utter this desire once prior.
As we pushed our way through the encroaching 100degree mark, and our pace began to slow as a consequence, I noticed all the messaging aimed at our children. From hats to pins to plastic tumblers, for a price, any child could be walking around the park as a “junior zookeeper.” Since TT himself can’t read yet, nor, I assume, most of the preschool crowd wandering the exhibits, I deduced that it’s not parents purchasing mere souvenirs, but caregivers actually buying a career aspiration for their kids . “Here Bobby Sue, you’re now a ‘junior zookeeper in training’!”
And she grins with her newfound “job,” and hat or pin or plastic tumbler.
TT didn’t get a souvenir that day, or at least not the “junior zookeeper” type. And in fact, his “I want to be a zookeeper” mantra quickly changed Sunday to “Momma, can I be a truck driver when I grown up?” as he watched 18-wheelers roll down the freeway on our drive to Costco. Ah, recency theory at work.
While I understand the power of immediacy for a 4-year old, I didn’t see any crossover in TT’s thinking. For example, he could be a zookeeper that drives animals from habitat to habitat, or trucks to natural lands to find or save endangered breeds. But these options were as remote as the lost sock in the laundry. And given the proverbial, cultural questions of “what are you going to be when you grow up?” to “what do you do?”, it should come as no surprise that children and adults alike struggle to define their work.
While I’ve worn many hats over the years, from waitress to student to professor, at any given time, I had some “thing” work-wise to call my own. When asked the question ‘what do you do?,’ I could always answer, and I always answered in the singular. “I’m an Assistant Professor.” “I’m a Business Owner.” I have never said, “I’m a wannabe writer, a wife, a business owner, a mother of 2 young children, a dabbler in art and design, and a scourer of estate sales.” In fact, now that I am all those things and no longer have a “work path,” I have avoided all situations where I’d have to answer the proverbial, “What do you do?” question. Truth be told, being without a designated career path is a bit like being Waldo in the zebra habitat at the zoo. Disconcerting.
So how do I encourage a hybrid career to my young children when I too struggle over the absence of the self-possession of a defined career, income, job title, or otherwise, meaningful work outside the home? Or when I yearn, just like my son, for the singular “I want to be an X”?
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