My, the Time Flies

The Professor and I celebrate our 8-year wedding anniversary today. The day of our wedding was fabulous. I had a leisurely morning of getting my hair and make-up done at a professional salon with my sister. After all the primping was complete, we headed to the site of our wedding, the 19th Century Club in Memphis. I spent the early afternoon chatting, laughing, and sipping wine in the bride’s room with my sister and my best friend.

I vividly remember this day. I remember seeing the Professor for the first time and how excited we were to take the plunge of marriage. I remember nervously but eagerly saying our vows. I remember seeing the pale of the Professor’s face wash away to a healthy glow once I said, “I do.” I remember feeling on top of the world that evening, drinking champagne, dancing with my new husband, talking to our guests, and truly feeling like the happiest person on the planet. We were thrilled to be finally moving on with our life together. I had finally graduated from college and was ready to settle in to married life, get a job, and support the Professor while he finished his Ph.D.

We moved up to the Great White North together and began our life. Since then, a lot has changed. We have returned to Memphis, bought our first home, got a second dog, bought a second car, and had a baby. Our life has been full and for the most part happy. We have taken trips together and explored new things together. We’ve survived some of the bumps in the road of marriage and have even managed to allow each other to grow. Things have been great.

Aside from continuing to be completely in love and devoted to each other, one thing has remained constant throughout our marriage – I am completely miserable. I am miserable because a) I suffer from a mild form of depression that I am determined I can manage without the use of meds (this depression runs rampant with the females in my family and I feel lucky to have only inherited a smidgeon of it. It also didn’t really manifest itself until about 2 months after the wedding) and, b) I have not yet figured out what the hell I want to spend each and every working day doing and it is making me crazy!

I have to work, there’s no question about that. And even if I didn’t have to go out and earn an income, I’m probably better off working because I would probably spend too much money, eat too much, and feel guilty about not doing enough and thus, end up even more depressed. I would love to stay home with my son for a while, but even then, I know I would have to have VERY structured and planned days or I would go nuts. But, I must earn an income, so work is inevitable. And that’s the problem – work. I can’t seem to figure out what to do that makes me feel good about it. I want to be a productive citizen. I want to feel good about what I do. I want to be busy and feel like I’m making a positive contribution to something. And selfishly, I want to like what I do for a living and even feel somewhat energized by my work. Instead, I sit in an office everyday finding myself angry at my work situation.

After I gave birth to my son over a year ago, I knew that I would have to change jobs. I worked in a high stress job with excruciating long hours. When I learned that I was pregnant, I immediately began planning for a job change that would allow me to at least leave work at a reasonable hour on a daily basis. And I found one – a job as an administrative assistant at a college. I work in an office that does a lot of really great work, and I’m proud of that. I just absolutely hate being an administrative assistant.

I detest the way my job duties are laid out in a task-to-task manner on a daily basis. I am unhappy with fact that I’m involved in a bazillion different things each day, but I barely get to scratch the surface of any of them. It’s like being at a wine tasting of the best 100 wines of the world and only getting to taste a drop of each one. I am the third party representative for a multitude of programs and duties and it leaves me confused and completely disjointed from anything in particular. And then, I’m also just bored. My mind needs a little more of a challenge than remembering to call so-and-so on behalf of so-and-so to say that so-and-so #1 is running behind and will be at your lunch meeting 3 minutes late. And, since when did I suddenly become an accountant? I didn’t go to school for that!

So, I’m trying to figure out this whole job/career thing. Since I must work, I might as well feel good about what I’m doing, right? I’m smart. I’m educated. I can do whatever ever I want to do, right? I’m sure the Professor is reading this now and rolling his eyes because he’s heard this line over and over and over again for well, the past eight years. He heard it when I was waiting tables fresh out of college. He heard it when I worked for the non-profit, when I taught, when I wrote proposals, and now when I administrative assist.

In this career quest, I have considered several options, most of which require additional schooling. I’ve considered the health field for both humans and animals. I’ve considered teaching again, hoping that I will rekindle that passion I had for education while in graduate school. I have considered counseling (either in a school or elsewhere), grant writing, nonprofit work, etc. I have almost narrowed it down to still too many choices. When I talk to the professor about it he just says to select something and go for it. If it turns out that it’s not the one, then go for something else. I appreciate his optimism, but really, I’m afraid if I just take a wild stab at it, I’ll still be trying at the age of 70. Not that continually learning and developing oneself is a bad thing. I just don’t think I can continue to live my life with such a feeling of angst about a career. And I certainly don’t want my children to grow up with a confused and angry mother. I already went through that and it wasn’t that great.

So goes the past eight years of my career-life. I really can't complain. The Professor has certainly been a continuous support throughout these years, and I can't thank him enough. He truly deserves all of the wonderful things that he has achieved recently: his dream job, a beautiful son, and a not always nutty wife. Happy anniversary, my love. And here's to hopes for the future and that the next eight years will be as full and fantastic as the last. And maybe by the time we reach 20 years, I'll have this whole career thing sorted out.