Two Roads Diverged in a Yellow Woods...

Happy 2012, everybody!  A new year brings new possibilities, and, as if on cue, this new year is bringing changes to my life.

Have I mentioned before how much I hate change and transitions?  I'm a creature of habit.  It's even worse when big decisions need to be  made.

So what's going on?  Nothing all that exciting, really.  Brandon is transitioning to pre-school which leaves my life less focused on childcare.  In the interest of personal fulfillment (and a paycheck!) I've decided to take another leap into the world of actual, outside-my-house, employment.  Somewhat anxiety-provoking change #1. 

Anxiety #2:  I seemed to have found a job.

A brief digression here.  Employment and I have a somewhat stormy history.  My relationship with work has some eerie similarities with unstable interpersonal relationships.  I end up with jobs that start-off so good, but the ending is generally bad.  I don't think I've ever gone through the stereotypical job hunt involving want ads, resumes, and personal interviews.  That would take having an actual career path.  Instead I'll take the job that'll have me.

My first job out of college?  Working at a domestic violence shelter where I had been a student intern.  It was...an experience.  The young woman hired to replace me when I left after 3 years lasted longer than I did, but also developed stress-related health problems.  It was not a well-run program and it eventually imploded.

My next career move was becoming a legal assistant at a law office.  This job was offered to me because somebody knew I was at a loose end having left the shelter.  In fact, I was so unaware that there was a job offer in the works that I showed up at the office with my hair in cornrows, wearing a tie-dyed dress and moccasins.  It was a small firm with a staff prone to psychodrama.  I lasted about 10 years.  It all ended with a nasty business "divorce" between the firm's partners, and I realized that I am not cut-out to work in an office.

I tried returning to my food service roots.  I like to joke that I was a food service major at Oberlin College because I worked a lot of dining hall jobs to stay in school.  I've washed my share of dishes.  I know my way around a Hobart.  I enjoyed my stint as a dietary aide in a nursing home.  There is a certain satisfaction in breaking a sweat and getting dirty.  I loved my interaction with the residents.  I didn't love the new management when our department was outsourced, and I didn't do a good job keeping my opinions to myself.  That ended THAT job.  I learned that I'm not good at being treated like an expendable obstacle to company profitability.  I'm also not that good at physical labor, really.  I over-think things.  I'm not speedy and efficient.

Then there has been the childcare thing which I got into when a mom called me because she knew I was at a loose end after the law job ended.  In truth, this is a skill I didn't even know I had.  But the kid seemed to like me, although she eventually moved away.  But then a friend of mine had a baby and needed someone to care for him.  After the nursing home episode another friend of mine had a baby.  I've always felt this was karmic payback for the fact that I had been a working mother and depended on a neighborhood woman to care for my daughters.  They have been great gigs, and I was fortunate to only care for children I really cared about.  But my daughters are largely grown now, and I'm ready to interact with adults.  Babies and toddlers are sweet, but they're tyrants.  It's a good thing they grow up.

I swore to myself that when I re-entered the job market I'd put some thought into it, evaluate my strengths and interests and launch a career that would be a good fit.

Instead I've fallen into another job.  I've come full circle.  I'm poised to work at a domestic violence shelter.

It came about through connections from my first job.  It started with an innocent inquiry, and before I knew it I was signing a W-4 and undergoing training.  It's a different program and I need to learn their policies and procedures.

I know starting new jobs is scary.  But I'm not certain that I've always felt this knot in the pit of my stomach.  I don't think that the thought of the job should make me feel like crying.  It wasn't until I had actually committed to the training that I had an explosion of anxiety.  I don't know if I can do it anymore.

The first go-around was a soul-searing experience.  I was young, idealistic, and working for someone who felt that things like training and boundaries were largely unnecessary.  I'm sure I was given way more responsibility than I was really ready for.

So when I feel panic now, I don't think it's from where I am today.  The 25 year old who walked away from the job to save her mental health is still inside my head somewhere, screaming.

But this, I tell myself, will be different.  It's a new agency with better policies and procedures.  I'm 20 years older and wiser.  I'm only working very part-time.  It's a job I know.

But that might be the problem.  It's a job I know.  I know full well what a bad day can be like.  I know that 98% of the time it is fairly routine.  But that 2% can be a doozy.  This time, however, I can be confident that I won't be made to handle it alone.

But I'm also wondering if I'm ready to let the misery of the world back into my life.  It's one thing to be aware of and care about issues like poverty, homelessness, mental illness, and violence, it's quite another thing to stare them straight in the eyes.  Am I strong enough?

I guess I won't know until I try.  I'm hoping that spending more time at the shelter will set my mind at ease.  Or let me know this isn't the right direction for me.

Two paths diverged in a yellow woods.  Sorry, Mr. Frost.  It isn't the road not taken that concerns me.  It's the one I've already traveled.