When the computer craps out, the kids are sick, the husband runs out of ways to fix things and your friends have seemingly taken up residence in the Witness Protection Program to get away from you, it’s pretty easy for stress to start to pile up just a bit.
Notice I put the item about the dead computer first. Most of you know I don’t have kids, but I know many of you do. I was trying to be fair on this. My “cubicle work” computer, which has been on its long, slow death march for weeks, finally bit the dust today. A new one is on order, and I have another to use in the meantime, but you know how that is. You like what you’re used to using, and it’s a pain to change.
I’ll be fine until the new one arrives. It’s not the main reason I’m tugging on the door to my happy place, wondering why it won’t budge. I’ve been working that door for a while, between a death in the family and working on too many things I don’t enjoy and not enough things that matter. I admit it; I’ve gone over the details of what to do next, why I should do it and of course, the big annoying “WHAT IF” questions. What if I don’t budget right for this move? What if I do this next thing, and find out I hate it? What if I do this next thing, and find out I’m not good at it?
What if I fail?
Lots of people have failed at new lives, new jobs, new inventions. It’s been said that defeat is not the worst of failures; not to have tried is the true failure. Losing a loved one has certainly sharpened my focus, not only on what’s important, but how much time there is (or isn’t) to get things done.
It’s time to clear the way, I think. Time to remove the safety net of this current life. An ugly thought, to do this at my age. But the words in my blog title, “My Next Life,” need to take on their true meaning. The Husband asked me what I wanted for my upcoming birthday. It’s time to tell him the truth. It’s time for something different. I need and want to work, but not at something I hate, just for a paycheck. And it’s not about going bigger, it’s about growing better.