Keeping On (I Could Have Made A Baby In This Time)

I am nine months and sixteen days into my tenure with my current company.

When I gave an UWS mom my two-week notice last winter, I had no idea what was next.  It was almost absurd, the situation I was creating.  It wasn't just that I had turned down a salary and benefits (as wild as it may sound, the niche private domestic industry in Manhattan offers fair income potential for career nannies), it was that I didn’t know exactly for what I was leaving the security of a paycheck behind.

My brief parlay into the world of Manhattan nannying?  It reminded me of just how much I missed children.  They are punchy, they are raw, they are wise, they are delicate, they are in-your-face reminders of nothing less than the complex human condition.  Taking care of little ones is exhausting, eye-opening, and profound.  It's serious business.  But these children were not mine and a year from then, what would I do?  Keep nannying?  Where would that bring me?

I remember thinking, so this is what it feels like, to bury my practical sensibilities for the glimmer of hope that there is something out there that is better for me even though I have no idea what that might be.  I didn't doubt for a second that it was the right thing to do, to end the nannying gig, but accepting the unknown was hard.

I couldn't shake the ego-bruising thoughts.  Was I dooming myself to a land of temporary receptionist work?  Would I be content with free Pinkberry if I were to join the lucky ranks of teenage frozen yogurt servers?  Would I inevitably move to some commune to lead a simpler life that didn't require income?  Would I be stuck forever in this maddening limbo?  No, I told myself.  I simply could not allow that.

Somehow, exactly one week to the day I had worked my last hour with the kiddos and said goodbye to their Central Park West doormen, I started with my present employer.  I had my own e-mail account.  I set my ergonomic chair to the lowest setting to accommodate my short legs.  I received a recycled security card.  I was Ron for a few weeks while the system took its sweet time updating its records.

After days bursting with children’s songs, indoor pools, play dates, and playgrounds, reverting back to a cubicle setting with fluorescent lights and humans taller than three feet - it was truly comical.  But it worked for me.  The work suited my detail-oriented nature, my Excel skills benefited me greatly (even in publishing – didn't see that one coming!), the environment deemed jeans appropriate, and most importantly, the team was pretty swell.  I worried that I wasn’t learning much per se, but I was, at least by way of familiarizing myself with the industry’s products, acquiring some new knowledge.  The work never ended.  There was always some deadline to meet.  I practically skipped to work.

So here I am reporting nothing remarkable, just ordinary and common.  On those days that I feel low for having joined a new industry in an entry-level position just shy of my 30^th birthday as so many people around me have blazing careers, start families, take vacations on a whim, and buy million-dollar apartments, I have to work at keeping it real.  It's hard, but I stay the course.  I refuse to take for granted all that's transpired since last winter.  It's a bit of a privilege to have this kind of humbling experience, I'd like to think.  In the end, I'll be a stronger person.

Nine months and sixteen days into it, I'm keeping on.