I should have felt really badly that I didn’t get the job. Most opinions were on the side that this was just what I needed; a big company with big benefits, big learning potential and the biggest biggie for a divorcing mother of two, job security aka stability aka it’s going to be alright, dear.
I should have been disappointed when I woke and read the email.
Never miss a local story.
“We are grateful for your interest, but as you may imagine, we’ve many candidates, and at this time we’ve chosen to go with them.”
The initial sting of rejection passed through my pre-caffeinated, morning body. But as quickly as it appeared did it subside. My Zen is getting stronger as I age, I thought. Had I found it much younger, imagine the potential.
* * *
Long before Christmas, the juggling that is my life meant that balls of all sizes and colors have been mid-air, flying up and over cupped and ready hands. As the New Year rolled around nothing, really, had dropped. Tripping had led to mad dashes, of course, but the force of my will kept all balls overhead.
Yet despite the internal fuse that’s kept it all afloat, there have been moments when I wished to let it all go; the kids, the bills, the laundry, the job hunt, the writing, the exercise, the stuff….
Wouldn’t it be easy? I would think. For tightly fisted hands to drop to my sides and let it all crash down.
I could run far, far away to a place that’s quiet and easy. Like the bedroom I had when I was seven. Curl up in a white, iron princess bed and let other people make all of my decisions.
“But this isn’t living,” I would say. To remove myself from the things that fill up my life wouldn’t be right. I’d miss my kids and the laundry and writing and the exercise and the stuff. The bills could stay lost. The bills, and the job-hunt.
And so I’d have a good juggling cry until there was nothing more to do but go on to cook some dinner and put kids to bed, and as someone in a similar position said recently, “let the days seep into another,” preferably with a smile on my face.
The, this job is not for you, writing on the wall came when I was asked about my relationship with conflict.
How would you deal with a troublesome teammate?
How would you solve a hard problem?
What would you do if someone came to you very, very angry?
Had they known with whom they were speaking they would have been assured that I could handle a little work environment upset. But having removed myself from a marriage where conflict was the name of the game is it possible that my body language said, “Not I. Not. I Please, please do not pick me!”
Whether or not I knew it then, I see it now as if the answer had been written on their foreheads the entire time.
My place is here, connected to cupped and flying hands. My future hasn’t been decided. And the big job, with the big potential was not meant to be.
Strangely, I feel more than okay.
Because despite losing out on something I thought might be the answer to my prayers, I was present as my journey took this turn. I watched the ball drop, and since my hands were busy, unable to wave goodbye, gave a nod as it bounced, bounced away, off into someone else’s life.