At many times in my life, I've lamented having/needing to have a day job. Having a day job felt like a necessary evil. It paid the bills, contributed to retirement savings, offered health insurance. Aside from those (albeit very important) elements, a day job stood between me and all that I wanted to be or become.
Sometimes, I was dreaming of a future as a best-selling novelist.
Others, I saw my fledgling cake business as an adorable storefront with
steady traffic and a staff of its own. Some mornings, I simply didn't
want to get out of bed and put on big girl clothes; some afternoons, my
boss drove me up a tree.
Still, being the proprietor of Much Ado About Cake opened my eyes to the sheer weight of responsibility that comes with owning a small business. Vacation and sick days cut directly into your ability to generate revenue. Bookkeeping and liability insurance and health department inspections are far less glamorous than the ooohs an ahhhhs of delivering a cake in the shape of Fenway Park.
About six months ago, I left my job of more than eight years to accept a new position. It wasn't a drastic change from what I'd been doing, but it was definitely a promotion. I'm now an assistant dean at a college much smaller than the one I worked at previously. I have a ton more responsibility and I've already worked more evenings and weekends than I used to work in a year.
Yet, I feel invigorated. I'm doing a much wider variety of work, which is great. I'm also part of a decision-making team. I work with and for the associate dean and dean--two smart and savvy women. I earn a good salary--enough that I don't have to fret over whether I'm actually bringing in any money from baking or writing.
Don't get me wrong, I still do my fair share of whining. This is especially true when I have to work Saturday morning admissions events or talk to megalomaniacal alumni. (Okay, they aren't really megalomaniacal, but I don't get to use that word enough.)
I still fantasize about having my own show on Food Network or being on the bestseller list. I'd abandon my day job if either of those things ever came to pass. I just no longer look at my day job as the thing that stands between me and those things. It's more of an acceptable livelihood in the meantime--not a bad gig.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Sunday, September 15, 2013
All the Little Things
When it comes to relationships, it is, of course, about the big things. Intelligence, integrity, humor--without such things, there is no basis for a meaningful relationship to take hold. With the big things squarely in place, it is lovely to bask in the little things.
I spent two days this week in New York City for work. More specifically, I spent two days shepherding thirty-five college students around the city to visit accounting and finance firms. I wore a suit (which I loathe) in 85-degree weather, I listened to wealth managers and risk managers and stock brokers talk about what it takes to make it in the industry.
I arrived home at 11:30 on Friday night to a smiling partner, a glass of wine, and these:
Not only did they brighten my evening, they make me smile as I sit at the dining room table writing. They are just the right thing after a few days of not nearly enough soft-and-pretty stuff.
And what's more? If you look very closely, you might detect my honey in the background, doing the dishes. I made breakfast today, so she does the dishes. She also got up early to walk the dog so I could sleep late.
Yes, I'm feeling a little spoiled this weekend. Yes, I'm feeling a little smug. It's nice to revel in being tended.
It's more than that, though. I used to think the little things were important because they added up, and that is true. I've decided they are really important because they tell us our partner gets us. They tell us that she is paying attention. They are her way of giving us exactly what we need even when we don't have the wherewithal to know what those needs are.
I spent a lot of my life trying to let the little things go. I convinced myself, as a child and as an adult, that if a family member/friend/partner was smart/kind/funny, that was all that mattered. Demanding more seemed so, well, demanding.
It took being with someone who does all the little things to understand the difference. The little things, and they're different for every person, but they matter. Perhaps, they matter most of all.
I spent two days this week in New York City for work. More specifically, I spent two days shepherding thirty-five college students around the city to visit accounting and finance firms. I wore a suit (which I loathe) in 85-degree weather, I listened to wealth managers and risk managers and stock brokers talk about what it takes to make it in the industry.
I arrived home at 11:30 on Friday night to a smiling partner, a glass of wine, and these:
Not only did they brighten my evening, they make me smile as I sit at the dining room table writing. They are just the right thing after a few days of not nearly enough soft-and-pretty stuff.
And what's more? If you look very closely, you might detect my honey in the background, doing the dishes. I made breakfast today, so she does the dishes. She also got up early to walk the dog so I could sleep late.
Yes, I'm feeling a little spoiled this weekend. Yes, I'm feeling a little smug. It's nice to revel in being tended.
It's more than that, though. I used to think the little things were important because they added up, and that is true. I've decided they are really important because they tell us our partner gets us. They tell us that she is paying attention. They are her way of giving us exactly what we need even when we don't have the wherewithal to know what those needs are.
I spent a lot of my life trying to let the little things go. I convinced myself, as a child and as an adult, that if a family member/friend/partner was smart/kind/funny, that was all that mattered. Demanding more seemed so, well, demanding.
It took being with someone who does all the little things to understand the difference. The little things, and they're different for every person, but they matter. Perhaps, they matter most of all.
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