I was having a conversation with my mom the other day about my lack of desire to return to Law School. She, in her diplomatic way, gently pointed out my pattern of throwing myself in to something, getting halfway through, and then changing my mind about wanting to finish.

It’s true. It’s a lifelong pattern. I have wanted to be an actor, restaurant owner, executive, teacher, lawyer, writer, and perhaps, nurse. I really wanted these things. Until I didn’t.

I was a successful actress in the protective bubble of high school. But in college, while spending my days in leotards and yoga pants learning how to breathe into my butt, I was also dodging a lot of girls in the bathrooms with their fingers down their throats, a lot of broken people who used the classes as therapy, and a lot of decisions being made about me based on purely superficial criteria. Some people had the skin for it; I did not. The work was too emotional, the criticism too personal, and I had to spend too much time ‘recovering’ from everything I did.

I made a lot of money as a waitress and a bartender. I got a fantastic foundation for my later days as an amateur “foodie” by working in kitchens. My close friends from my restaurant days continue to be some of the most important people in my life. But the work was hard, my internal clock was all mixed up – weekends were weekdays, days were nights – and I had to spend too much time ‘recovering’ from every shift I worked.

I had five great years at an educational company where we worked hard and long. But, while our bosses were demanding that we plan our work and be 90% PRO-active, the reality of that environment was primarily RE-active, and because the office was open far more hours than my standard work week (and because the company was kind enough to provide me with a handy dandy cell phone so I could be reached during any of those hours), I had very little time to recover.

THAT is the real pattern. It’s not that I’m lazy, or that I’m not smart or capable enough to complete any of the pursuits I have started.
It’s not because I’m a flake; I’m actually quite anti-flake. If I had to name one trait that is important to me above all others, it’s that people do what they say they will do. I demand it from myself, and I expect it from those close to me, and when I experience the flakiness or flightiness of others, the harm can be irreparable. So it really isn’t flakiness. 

The reason I find it hard to finish what I start is simply this: quality of life. I’m not so sure that money is an acceptable tradeoff for the compromise in our family’s quality of life.

Early on, I was working in environments that weren’t really conducive to meeting a quality man to settle down with; the guy still sitting at my bar after last call really didn’t have the same thing on his mind that I had on mine. Later, after I met Trophy Husband, I found I was working in environments not conducive nurturing our relationship; I was too stressed out or exhausted or preoccupied to take care of us. Eventually, I faced the struggle to balance a very full work life with caring for my beautiful newborn son, and was never able to stop crying in my office knowing he was in the arms of a babysitter instead of me. It just seemed, over the years, that the people who were getting the best part of me – the energetic, patient, compassionate, even loving part – were not the people who mattered the most. They weren’t my husband or my child or my parents or my close friends. They were my bosses, my clients, my students, and my colleagues.

It’s not that I am unsuccessful in my career choices, it’s that I haven’t figured out how to reconcile my own personal ambitions with the type of environment I want to create for my husband and children. And for me.

Trophy Husband and I have had times in our life together when we’ve had plenty of money, and times in our life together when we’ve been broke. The years when we had money, we also had a lot of stress; there were never enough hours in the day to get everything done. Two very demanding full time jobs left little time to plan meals, clean house, send out or pick up the dry cleaning, scoop the litter box, walk the dog, work out, pay attention to our budget, and so on. We were rushed, tired, eating poorly, and using our time away from work to frantically get the chores done. Relaxing often consisted of drinking, because that’s what felt like unwinding, and we very often faced Monday mornings running just as empty as we felt on Friday nights.

Now, while we have considerably less money, we have a lot more peace. (Not to be confused with calm – because the last couple of years have been anything but that). But with me not trying to get out the door to work in the mornings, too, we are afforded the kind of luxuries that we didn’t have when we had disposable income – like, my husband and I getting to start each day eating breakfast together. Like my son getting to sleep an hour later in the morning because I am not rushing him out the door to meet the bus. Like me being the person to teach my daughter her colors and shapes and letters. Like all of us sitting around our kitchen table together almost every night eating dinner, doing homework, or playing games.

Peace is a hard thing to give up.

Families do it every day, and I know that. I’m envious sometimes of those families. It’s hard to feel like the one whose priorities are out of whack because they don’t look like the priorities of most of the people around her. It’s hard to know that people wonder, knowing the hard financial times we just came through, why the heck I don’t go out and get a job to help contribute to the family.

It’s that very question that is the reason I keep looking for my next move; peace doesn’t pay.

Being an attorney pays, but the cost to my husband and family would be high, and I’m not so sure we’d be better off. There must be something else out there for me, something that will enhance the quality of our lives and help pay for braces and summer camps.

I just haven’t found it yet.