Living the Dream

Well, I've officially resigned from my job. It's been a long time coming, and the loss of income is a very scary prospect. But it was time. After much soul-searching, I feel like I've made the right decision... even though we might be on the cusp of financial ruin. Okay, that's probably a bit dramatic, but still, we're going to take a financial hit.

When I first began this job two years ago, I thought that nothing about it could possibly be bad. We raised money for the schools, funded programs for the teachers, had fun events to help line our coffers. But soon enough, the bad reared its ugly head. I work with some of the most amazing volunteers. They're dedicated, humble, hard-working, committed to the cause of public education. But then, I have the other side of volunteerism. I have women who have more money than they'll ever know what to do with, who have never had to work a day in their lives, who live with a constant sense of entitlement. They're the tough ones. It's a situation in which there are way too many Chiefs and not enough Indians. The battles over napkin colors grew tedious. I even had one board member say that she was not thanked nearly enough for her efforts. And to top that off, many of them are very critical of what I do (or what they think I don't do). In sixteen hours a week, I'm supposed to be all things to all people. I am responsible for running the organization, raising money, serving as a liason to all educators, answering to my 15 board members, thanking all my donors, developing a vision for the organization, etc., etc., etc. It is a part-time job with more than full-time responsibilities. Although I strongly believe in the organization and what it does, I can no longer sacrifice myself and my family to its success. It was a wrenching decision, but one that I feel is right for The Willis Tribe.

People are lining up at my office door to submit their names for my position. I'm sure they think the same thing I did when I first took the job. What could possibly go wrong? Seeing them so eager to sit in my chair makes me doubt my decision and question my common sense, but then I remember how eager I was to sit in that chair two years ago. I suppose the grass is always greener.

I've painted a small closet (with a window) in my bedroom and have moved a desk into it. We've lovingly dubbed it the Closet Office. My plan is to write, write, write. I'd like to line up some freelance writing and editing gigs to help pay the bills and to work on the Great American Novel in the interim. It's a scary prospect, but it's my dream. My sweet assistant, Lynn, says I need to "feel the fear and do it anyway." Words of wisdom. My thirty-seven year old brain has been through four pregnancies and births and the Old Girl just isn't what she used to be. I'll probably take some classes; sharpen my skills; start remembering how to see the world through a different lens. I have to tighten up my grammar, boost my vocabulary, knock some of those synapses back into action.

Childhood dream, here I come...