Who am I, really? Or, who am I? Really?!

My children are now all in school, Noah for the mornings, the others for the full day.  This was the time that I had told myself it was time to think about employment again. 

Well, alright, really I had told myself that LAST year was the time to figure things out.  A whole year away from my regular life, what more could a woman ask for when she needs to make big life decisions?  Unfortunately for the life plans, that didn’t quite work out the way I had planned. 

So when we returned to Canada, I allowed myself to start dreaming the crazier dreams.  I had heard an article on CBC’s Tapestries that talked about that antsy feeling people get mid-career and mid-life.  It really inspired me to be more observant as to what gives me pleasure in my daily life.  What are the things that feed my soul? 

I have jumped through a number of ideas, some more “out there” than others, but none of which are a total shock to either myself, or those who know me closely.  These have included holistic health healing, creative food planning, a knitting artist, a farm advocate, and many more.  And my latest incarnation, a librarian. 

With each of these so-called sparks, I tried them on for size.  Chatting with a friend or family member, even just casual conversation with my kids, I discussed something about each of these that let me feel how excited any given topic could get me.  And in dropping these hints, I was also checking to guage others’ reactions.  Did people look at me like I was off of my rocker?  Did they get excited, too, because they could imagine it happening? 

The problem with this strategy is that it does not bring me any step closer to employment.  It allows me to explore my dreams, my curiosities, but requires no amount of commitment.  But… (trumpets blaring) one of these casual conversations has led to something more concrete!

I had spoken with a librarian friend of mine about two months ago, just asking what one might do if one had an interest in libraries.  Out of the blue, she contacted me and said that there were two job openings for pages in her library.  Did I want her to pick me up and application? 

So for the last week I have been exploring my past, and my future, on paper.  On a job application, to be specific.  Reminding myself of who I have been;  a day care worker, a tutor, a teacher.  An adult literacy volunteer, a peer counselor and, yes, a librarian.  Reflecting on which of my life skills might be most appropriate to highlight for a library page position.  And wondering, is this REALLY is my next step?  I can only find out by trying. 

I have to admit to a healthy dose of excitement and adrenalin coursing through my body each time I have stepped in the specific  library, wondering if I might get the chance to work there.  And thinking about how the time commitment is fairly minimal, which is fine for me, for my family, for trying the library on for size. 

I am still not convinced that this is THE answer.  There is a level of “regular job” to a library position that I am not sure is what I am looking for.  Part of me wants to be totally outside of regular channels, to just carve some weird niche position for myself, that only I can inhabit in the world.  But my self-promotion habits are not very high on the Richter scale and I suspect that my niche would be so small as to be practically invisible. 

So for the time being, I am waiting.  I have created my own, updated CV, humbly realizing that I am now 12 years out of the work force.  All of my previous principals, supervisors, etc. have moved on, so none of my “references” are checkable.  My statement of purpose describes creating a stable, caring and supportive environment for my family.  Does applying for this job take that away?  Can my family handle a slightly less stable environment, albeit still just as caring and supportive?  Will my level of support for my children be diminished by my time away? 

So, I feel like I am at a juncture, trying to puzzle out who am I right now, and who do I want to be when I grow up.  My every day is spent spinning through moments of dizzy excitement and then plummeting despair depending on whether I am focussed on the leaving, or the starting.  It is times like this when I wish my mom could still hold my hand, take me across the street to the schoolyard, and then kiss me on the head and tell me to have a good day.  Because whom among us really wants to leave the happy comfort of our homes?  It is in the leaving that we grow the most, but in the waving of the hand that we feel the most sorrow.