“You are not your debt.” That one piece of advice was why I started this blog. It was written by a woman who lost her job and decided to make a go of it in another profession. Unfortunately, I have forgotten the exact details of her circumstances.
A lot of people start over. Earlier this month the New York Times profiled several professionals who switched careers. All of them were so well polished. And in each case, they were making as much as if not more than they were before.
“You are not your debt.”
But it feels like you are your debt or your lack of motivation or your deficient organizational skills.
Buster, a big bruiser of a French bulldog, destroyed a blanket and a pillow. My headphones were chewed up by Harley the Havanese. I forgive my dogs everything and I cannot forgive myself anything.
I love my new profession. Why am I not glowing with a sheen of success?
“You are not your debt.”
I only made it to physical therapy once this past week. This morning I overslept. My living room is a disaster. And I want to believe that none of us are the things that overwhelm us.
Why didn’t I exercise more? Did I write enough? On a day with multiple bookings are my dogs getting enough attention? How is it that I am home all day but I don’t feel well rested? These questions never leave me alone making it hard to breathe.
And yet…Ruari, a Boston Terrier, is on my lap right now. From her tiny body, two tumors were removed last week. I change her blood filled diaper. There is nothing I would rather be doing. Nothing.
I never want to lose this loving part of myself.
A Sheryl Crow song plays in my head. “Please say honestly you won’t give up on me and I shall believe.”
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Leashes sticky with sap from discarded Christmas trees. My first steps of 2019 are in dog poo. So much for a rejuvenating new year’s morning walk.
Harley, a Havanese mix, misses Daisy, his Connecticut canine companion. The two Sophies also staying with me are not great company for him. Sophie the Pomeranian is too mature to play. Sophie the Dachshund doesn’t really know how to play.
Harley is lonely. I am lonely. We all miss our families.
Two days ago Harley and I were in the country. Harley had a yard and a big house to explore. We were all safe. We left because of my work. Here my old life and my new life meet.
This isn’t my first three dog day. If I could manage something once I could manage it again right? Except nothing feels right. I’m constantly cleaning, feeding or walking my three companions. Why can’t we all settle in and watch a good movie? Jesus the Dachshund won’t stop barking.
And I am lonely for my family. I am lonely for the New Year’s Eve dinner we have with friends every year. I am lonely for the bond Harley, Daisy and I forged in Connecticut. Why can’t this be replicated between the four of us?
I share a bottle of champagne with Sophie P’s mom later on in the day. Sophie D in another room will not stop barking.
It’s a Sunday disguised as a Tuesday.
To my loved ones, this is a sign that three is too many and that this job may be too much. Well, New Year’s Day did teach me something.
During some boarding sessions, you will wish you were having New Year’s brunch with friends and your clients will wish they were snuggled up against their mommies and daddies. The dogs and I cannot always successfully shield each other.
It is a relief to be back in my routine safe from that holiday alienation. Those holiday bookings could help me break even in January.
As I write this Sophie D is back in my living room. She isn’t barking as much.
Friday Night Lights was my tv salvation for a long time. One of the best moments from this series was when Eric Taylor, the best coach ever, wrote “State” on a whiteboard in the locker room. His players were silenced by this gesture. They were better than they had been before coach Taylor arrived but they were nowhere near the state champion level.
Funneling my 2019 ambitions into one word I write a monetary figure on a whiteboard. This is just over what I made in take-home pay from my old job.
Many aspirational streams merge into this figure. But for right now these numbers have to stand in black ink against a whiteboard. My mind always whirling with tasks, hopes, and doubts needs to be hushed like Coach Taylor’s players.
petwork/gigwork/lifework 