It’s not called ‘jobless’, it’s called ‘differently employed’

I gave up my job this week.

I have been saying it to myself like that, possessively, all week and all of the time I’ve been tossing it back and forth in my head. My job. But not mine, anymore, because I decided not to go back to the office.

I want to do something else.

And I always knew that I wouldn’t go back, really. But now that it comes to it, I’m gathering up my nerves and skirts like I’m about to leap off a cliff. I didn’t realise it was so much a part of what I thought about myself, this working, and I keep worrying about silly things like what if people think less of me and can I be a proper adult without a full-time job and how will I contribute now, like society was chugging towards a glorious future only because I kept all the apostrophes in the right place. The Queen never wrote to thank me, but then she is getting on a bit and perhaps she’s not all that bothered about apostrophes anyway (I jest. She takes apostrophes VERY SERIOUSLY).

Mostly, though, I see possibility. I’ll need to do something to earn (and soon), but perhaps, this time, I could write. And then there’s this. Whenever I ask the questions ‘who will I be now? What will my work be now?’, the answer comes over and over again, unshakeably: this.

He is just the most delicious thing at the moment. Racing across the floor to investigate things and cackling when he pulls himself to his feet. This evening I looked up from the sofa to find him standing up by the bookcase, ringing that little Alpine cowbell so hard he was leaving dents in the shelf and laughing like it was the best day of his life. Then he ate all of my quiche (?! he hates food, but he makes an exception for quiche?) and thought that was hilarious too – though I did not, because it meant I only had peas for dinner, and as any botanist will tell you, they are not large. Once he’d fallen asleep in a tangle I went in to unwind him like always, and as I unbent his arms and legs I thought, again, this is the work.

Well, how insanely lucky is that? I will give it my best.

For starters, I hope I have racked up the brownie points for handing over all my quiche.

4 thoughts on “It’s not called ‘jobless’, it’s called ‘differently employed’

  1. you will contribute by raising Henry to be a wonderful, caring, hardworking, sensitive human being, Just like his mum I might add.And there is no better contribution than that anywhere in the universe! Love ya Rachel,
    Lorraine x

  2. Pingback: The year of magical thinking | make a long story short

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