Artist: Brian Kershisnik

1. I got a job.

2. I got a job!

3. I got a job?

. . .

1. The straight-forward version is that an incredible opportunity has come up at a terrific national non-profit organization I've long admired. It wasn't the precise timing I was anticipating doing this but it does feel right for our family and we have all felt sweet assurances that it is indeed the thing to do, on many levels and for many reasons. I'll be the director of program research and development and I start Monday. The eventually has arrived, the season for this.

2. It is the exact kind of job I always said I would eventually like to do when people asked "so what are you going to do with that degree, teach?" (I would say something like "I do love teaching but I'd really like to help lead a foundation or non-profit, connecting research and practice to help children and families in innovative ways," not sure if there were, in fact, jobs with all of those elements at once). In fact, I have the eery feeling that someone was secretly taking notes or that my words flew out and become some kind of seedling that cultivated this particular, newly created job. They are paying me to come up with ideas! To have a big-picture perspective! To pilot new programs and innovate and connect the dots...and then hand off those things to someone to do the nitty gritty implementation.

3. And yet. Still, I'm nervous. And terrified. 90% excited (or, honestly, sometimes 74%), but the rest rather terrified. I worry about other people's opinions. I worry about logistics. I worry whether I'm up to the task. I worry worry worry but it's all the kind of uninspired fear that is unhelpful and belittling, the kind you have to tell fear, go sit in the corner until you're more productive. Each concern I've had has been resolved (Oh you want to be home in the afternoons? Sure, you can work an earlier, flexible schedule) but still I ruminate about things, long after the calm, right decision was made. Yesterday morning I expressed some worries to G as he got ready for work. I leaned against the kitchen counter in my pajamas (pajamas! they won't let me wear pajamas to work, will they?) and quietly wailed "what if I'm not doing the right thing?" He looked me in the eyes, kissed my forehead and whispered you're doing the right thing. Which is, of course, just what I needed.

. . .

Just wanted to say that today.

And I'll still be here. Here and here. 

To be continued...