Head vs Heart

When life gives you lemons, it is a common assumption you'll make lemonade, right?

What if you attempt to make lemonade but while you're squeezing out all the juice you notice you're out of ice and sugar so you make a last minute decision to bake a lemon tart? Should I be disappointed with the outcome because I had my heart set on lemonade or embrace what I could create; a tasty tart?

What's with all the lemons?

Recently I mentioned my desire to start my own business, however, in my haste to make it happen and "achieve my dream" (vomit on a cliche!) it became abundantly clear that perhaps now isn't the right time to start and I need to focus on achieving my dream in smaller more managable pieces.

Voicing my concerns to Teach about building a comprehensive business and having it make money in 6 weeks to co-incide with my current contract ending, made us both weak in the knees.

Do I really want to put myself under that much pressure? Do I really want to put my family under that much pressure? Besides, when I do get to finally showoff my fabulous new career I want it to be AMAZING not average or worse still...ho-hum! 

So I decided to get realisitic and focus on what I can accomplish in a short-time frame and readjust my expectations - or at least trust that while my intuition is guiding me along the right path, I need to follow the path completely, not just expect to cross the finish line before I've done the leg work (again with the cliches!).

It will happen, I can feel it, but I wont rush in to something because I think I've finally cracked the clues spinning around in my heart and my head. After all, patience is a virtue. Or so I'm told.

Helen Thomas over at A Mother's Intuition says it very well: 

Part of the lesson in learning to follow your intuition is to let go of your attachment to outcomes. You cannot guarantee that making a particular decision (whether based on intuition or not) will guarantee the outcome you wish.

Image: The EveryGirl

Career Crossroads: Comfort or Security?

When I was a wee young thing my Dad said to me, ‘If you want to be a good writer you have to read everything.’ At the time I didn’t really want to hear his advice (sorry Dad) and knowing me, I probably walked away thinking, 'Pfft! Ok Dad. Whatevs!' as only a delightful pre-pubescent daughter does to her Dad and turned up the volume on Mariah Carey's Music Box album (it was the 90's!) and stuck my head under my pillows hoping to disappear. 

Today, in a slightly older age bracket, Dad's advice creeps back in to my ear as I sit at my laptop urging the words on the page to, ‘Hurry up and make sense!’

Pieces of my debut novel are lying before me waiting for guidance. One particular scene is flaccid, uninteresting and down right amateur. It's been restructured so many times it finally appears in what could only be described as gobble-dee-gook, making me come to terms with the sad reality that my attempt to 'harness my creativity' (Thank you Oprah) will be a long and painstakingly slow process.

Now I am escaping. I've switched from Word to Wifi to forget all about my pathetic crying leadying lady and her life changes...boring! Instead I'm going to kill time flipping through the delectable pages of ASOS.com daydreaming of all the clothes I'd like to buy.

But it sits there waiting for me. That dreaded blinking curser knows I will return and magically morph in to an evil clown face and laugh at me hysterically, 'You're back for mooooore? Whoa, ah, ahhhhhh!' Lovely!

I never grew up thinking, 'I'm going to be a writer,' but I always loved the sound of the 'click, click, click' of the keys on a typewriter. It seemed very romantic to me, like an old black and white film. Romantic and important. If you were a writer, I thought, you were important and SOMEBODY. Who would want to waste their time reading when they could be a writer?

Looking back I can see now that the desire to write has always been tucked away in a pretty box (a gorgeous Tiffany & Co blue box with a white bow of course) behind my heart. It didn't reach my brain until I was so mind-numbingly bored one day playing Mum I started a blog just for the hell of it. 

Sitting down at my PC to write what had happened that day or what I wanted to happen, was the only creative outlet I felt somewhat good at and sincerely enjoyed doing for myself while on maternity leave. And let's face it, no matter how much I'd love a cute pink scarf, I'm more likely to use the kneedles in E's play drum kit than I am to sew.

As the months went by and I was drawn into the world of blogging more and more, my Dad's advice got louder, 'To be a good writer you have to read everything.' Without hesitation I went straight to the bookshelf to rediscover the many novels I’d stashed there over the past ten years and started to read.

I hadn't read for a long time because it was such a large part of my nine to five. Reading was the last thing I wanted to do after an intense day at the office, besides it took me away from decent drinking time!

Week after week I read another book reminding myself why I loved it in the first place. The adventure. The romance. The frivolity. The connection with my playful-inner-girlie-self. I couldn't get enough. The more I read, and subsequently wrote for This Beautiful Life, the more I found myself saying, ‘This is what I want to do. You can do this.’

So here I am standing at a career crossroads listening to the arguments between the left and right sides of my brain trying to decide if I should follow the path of least resistance or follow the path of financial security. 

Comfort or security? Comfort or security? Comfort or security?

The battle is tougher than a Men's Wimbledon Final. We're sitting on Deuce in the fifth and final set about to start a Tie Break.  Here’s a brief replay of the match so far:

HEART: ‘You really enjoy writing. People comment on it all the time. It could be something you develop further and potentially end up doing full-time. Imagine getting paid to write! I would love to work for myself and be a published writer. Let’s give it a crack.’

HEAD: ‘Don’t be ridiculous you have a family and responsibilities. You have no experience in writing and besides you've got to compete for space against many other better writers who actually know how to write. Go back to your old job, earn a decent salary and cement a secure future.’

HEART: ‘But how will I know if I never try? I might be good at it and actually find happiness in my career.’

HEAD: ‘Ha. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard this year. You've got experience in PR and that's what you should do. Now have another Tim Tam.’

HEART: 'But I wanna...Poo. Bum. Wee.'
 

And ‘round and ‘round we go until the packet of Tim Tams is slowly but surely demolished and my head is about to explode.

While I may have brought myself to this fork in the road (or bloody huge roundabout that doesn’t appear to have any exits) I acknowledge that many others, unfortunately, don’t have the privilege of choosing their path.  I should be grateful to have the choice. And I am...which makes this whole process much harder to swallow.

Do I return to the PR world, to an industry that has provided me an amazing life with many opportunities and memorable experiences – not to mention an excellent income and a wardrobe full of killer heels – for the road never travelled (by me), which I'm not even sure I will be good at or make a living from?

The thought of returning to a manic PR agency, dealing with clients, dealing with media, working 12 hour days and never getting a peaceful nights rest again because of stress - let alone E who still doesn't sleep through - makes my stomach back flip more than a performing dolphin at Seaworld only not as enjoyable to watch. However, it is a career I know. It is one I’m relatively good at and one that can afford my family the lifestyle to which we’d like to become accustom.

Here it comes...

BUT what if I try my hand at writing a few things and have someone far more intelligent than I read it? I know a few people in the industry, maybe they could be a credible sounding board before I dive in? 

BUT what if said person happens to like what they read and, oh my golly gosh, shows other people or worse still it gets published one day? What if it doesn't? Can my ego survive the fall? Can I return to my bedroom, turn up the stereo with Mariah Carey playing and hide under the pillow circa 1991?

Whichever road fate wants me to follow, there’s one thing I know for sure, Dad will be there at the starting line saying, ‘High beam kid!’ as he always has at the beginning of new phases in my life. 

Back to work

The time has come to pack away the bath robe and slippers, unpack the corporate suits and polish up my fancy shoes because this Mumma his heading back to the workforce. Eeeek!

I finished up at my previous job a little more than one year ago. I remember cleaning out my desk and handing over a pile of business cards to my replacement and thinking, 'Thank god I don't have to use these again.' The only cards I collect now are ones from close friends and family celebrating E's arrival and business cards from Day Cares where E is on the waiting list.

Since starting a "life of luxury" I haven't needed to worry about having enough change for the bus in the morning, or that my jackets were dry cleaned before a big meeting or what incorrect story The Courier Mail was going to write about my client.

Nope, the most I worried about in the past 13 months was made up of more important issues like is E feeding enough during the day so he'll sleep at night? Am I about to run out of nappies and what sunscreen should I buy a baby so I don't fill his precious skin with chemicals? Does he have enough to keep him interested during the day? What should I make us for lunch? Etc... etc... The pressure may not be as high, but it's pressure nonetheless. Now I have to find a way to answer both. Correctly. First time. Every time. Obviously.

As this week rolls on and the first day of my new job gets closer my excitement for getting back into my career is slowly turning into panic. Not only will I start a new job in a new corporate environment, but all my work clothes resemble a tent an elephant would wear - a very faded and ugly tent thanks to the behemoth I was during pregnancy (not that there's anything wrong with that), AND I have to get E organised and ready to start Day Care in as many days. Two whammies on one day. I don't do things by halves do I?

Do I give in to these feelings of anxiousness and fear of getting back on the corporate treadmill after the longest break in my career to date, or do I focus on getting my darling boy through his first day (and week) away from home without Mum? 

I keep thinking, he'll be all alone in the big bad world with only his cute chubby smile to defend him? Yes, I'm completely overreacting, of course he's got cute chubby arms and legs that pack a mighty punch too, but you know what I mean.

The longest I've left E since he was born is 5 hours. Even then I was a prisoner of my own sweat-drenched panic because I was convinced he was having a melt down without me there to provide comfort (i.e. boobs) and I would regret going shopping with my girlfriends instantly.

Of course I got home, E was sound asleep and Teach didn't even realise five hours had passed. My emotional state was completely over the top and a result of me not learning to let go and have someone else - his very capable Daddy no less - look after him.

If that's what I was like six months ago, I'd hate to think what I'll be like after E's first eight hours in Day Care with a random stranger! Most probably hiding in the corner of the house, rocking back and forth in the arm chair with my arms wrapped firmly around E staring off in to the distance chantting, 'there's no place like home, there's no place like home.' 

Actually, that's reminded me, I need to get to the bottleo and stock up on a few good bottles of Red. This Mumma's gonna need it!

Career Girl or Working Mum?

Unemployment. It has a certain ring to it, doesn’t it? Unfortunately not the ring of cash registers or a flawless 2crt platinum princess cut Tiffany ring, but a ring nonetheless...