Starting new

I just started a new job at a new company for the first time in over 8 years. Now, that may not seem like a long time to some of the job hopping world (which, by the way, I am A-OK with; makes greater sense that the relentless hanging on hoping the pain will stop that some of us do)...but it is enough of a shift in my day to day reality that I find myself wondering why I moved on when the status quo would have been easier.


I don't ponder this for long, because I have a number of friends and family members who remind me what life was like before I took my 6 week sabbatical and then started fresh. They gently- and some of them even kindly- tell me I "must have been under a lot of stress". This is a euphemism for "yeah, you were a bitch, but we love you and forgive you". Now, I don't happen to think I was that bad, but I did recognize that my tolerance for annoying people, places and situations was at an all time low. And that suddenly my life seemed full of more annoying people, places and situations than ever before. Coincidence? I think not.

But I am better now. I had some time off- real time off- for the first time in my adult, professional life. I didn't do much by most standards, but being home every night, picking up my own mail and reading it the day it arrived seemed like an adventure, it was so foreign to me. I walked a dog named Fish, her brother Newt, and adopted a cat. (To add to the 5 we already have. And I don't care if you call me the crazy cat lady behind my back. That was something else I worked through during my time off.) I painted my office, visited my parents, and got most of my tax paperwork ready. Most.

And so now, here I am again, all revved up, poised to take on a whole new world. But something is amiss.

See, that 6 weeks off gave me a sense of what life is supposed to be like. What is supposed to happen when you have a full "outside of work" experience. I never knew what that felt like. Of course, I don't mean I should enjoy spending every morning watching Golden Girls reruns (but so what if I did that once in a while?) or languishing in my pj's until noon (again, so what?), but I do mean, recognizing that relaxing with old friends like Blanche, Dorothy, and Rose while sipping coffee is not so bad. I've probably earned it so why don't I give myself permission to do it?

Anyhow, that's why I feel a bit homesick. For the first time in my life I was home. Present and accounted for, and now I am missing what I only so recently found.