I’ve spent the last two months catching up on my sleep and re-runs of “Ghost Whisperer.” I’ve watched all of my favorite TV programs live and not on the DVR. I’ve talked with everyone (and I mean everyone) in my field and know the gossip better than those who go to every industry show.
And I’ve got an inbox full of assignments, offers and requests for more meetings and conversations.
And I hesitate to go near that particular Gmail account.
I don’t know why — I feel like I have too much testosterone in my blood right now. Like, I thrive on the thrill of the chase. But now that I’ve gone fishing and it looks like I’ll have dinner … a nice one … I’m surprisingly unenthused.
It’s not that the pursuit is over. Hell, in the new career (freelance) that I’ve unwittingly chosen, it’s going to be a constant pursuit for new projects, as current/future gigs begin and end.
This is truly what I want, though. As I told an interviewer the other day, I’m exhausted by the idea of a short-lived (or even long-term) marriage to one employer. It’s not that I don’t WANT one awesome job. But I’ve missed out on a lot of opportunities with people and companies who might be a better fit. Only I wouldn’t know that because I already had the rock on my left hand and, I gotta say, I’m not a girl who cheats.
Anyway, I know I am just whining because I’ve become lazy. I like hanging out with the cat all day. (Although the brat kept me up all night last night.) It was a very hard transition to go from 60-plus hours a week of work to zero. That’s a fucking culture shock. Shit, it was a culture shock to go DOWN to 60, but at least it was a transition.
I guess, for me, work is my long-term relationship. Boys come and go, and I don’t think twice. But I guess I’m looking for my vocational soulmate. And just like with men, I believe we have many soulmates. And also just like with men, I’m tired. I want a break. I want to not always have to be “on” and perky and always coming up with the next brilliant thing I’ll say … at the expense of not really listening to them in the meantime.
I don’t want to fall again … I don’t want to FAIL again. So, here I am, trying not to even get my hopes up.
I know I have to, though. I can’t be out of work. If you want to kill me, that’s the way to do it. And it occurs to me that I’ve treated my personal life that way — I’ve taken more breaks than not. I’ve figured the right one will come along at some point. I haven’t really needed much in the way of companionship in the interim.
What’s funny is that I have such high expectations of employers. I shouldn’t, given my history. I don’t have the same high expectations of boys. Employers, I expect will treat me like royalty and “get” me and help me to surf the learning curve to making this relationship “the one.” Boys, not so much.
I feel like I have to flip those expectations somehow — to set the bar high for boys and stop expecting much of anything from companies other than a paycheck in exchange for services rendered.
I don’t know why I’m so damn crabby. I always do this. I always bust my butt to get to the precipice of awesomeness, and then I pull back. Do I think I don’t deserve it? Have I really let my critics into my head enough to convince me that I’m as disposable as they think I am?
Why is it that, every time things are about to go my way, they fall apart? Is that why I self-sabotage … so that at least it was MY doing that things didn’t have a happy ending or, at least, a bearable next phase?
I know I haven’t done much of anything in my life to please anyone else. But when did I lose the drive to at least prove them all wrong?