Norma Rae, I ain't

Well, the strike is over, if it ever really began. (Not that I've gotten paid; I haven't.) It is important to realize that this blog is more than just my online vehicle for quilting humor. It is also my journal, my therapy, and the place where all my angsty blatherings go when my husband isn't around to listen and talk me down from whatever mental precipice I have momentarily climbed. ("Yes, honey, I'm sure that George Clooney deserved the Golden Globe more than Jeff Bridges and I absolutely agree that his latest girlfriend looks like a money-grubbing, man-eating 'hoor'—but is that really any reason to eat that entire box of Entenmann's chocolate doughnut holes?")

Sometimes, coming here and writing about how INDIGNANT I am, and how I will NOT TAKE THIS KIND OF ABUSE, over something that doesn't necessarily warrant quite that many capital letters, is just another form of eating an entire box of doughnut holes.

In this economy, I am grateful to have a job. I am grateful that the job I have allows me to work from home, part-time. I am grateful that, even if we spend a week eating ramen noodles that we HAVE ramen noodles to eat. And I am extremely grateful that, if this job falls through or I decide to leave it, that it only means belt-tightening and more careful accounting, not homelessness.

Having said that, my husband and I spent as much time as we could over the weekend discussing the possibility of me leaving my job, whether or not the pay situation resolves. Once when I left a bad job, David reminded me of all the times he had walked away from employment, feeling that he had other paths to take and I always supported him. And every time he did it, he ended up someplace better, and now he is in a career he loves.

The only real reason I have for leaving this job is that I feel I am on the verge of something. I feel like the career I've always wanted is out there for me, just within my reach, but I can't pursue it full-on unless I can get rid of the things that are holding me back. Like gainful employment.

It feels so self-indulgent to talk about this, knowing how many people are hurting, out of work, out of money. But I spent so many years not doing the kind of work I'm good at, because I was too scared to try. I thought that I could never break in to writing or editing, and every year that went by that I still didn't pursue it seemed to add to that belief. Then, I walked away from a job that I hated and found one that I loved within a week, at a magazine, editing and writing.

I don't hate this job, but I have the same feeling now that I did then: that now is the time to leap.

I'll try to make this the end of my navel gazing. For now.