"How could you possibly think that you would be okay dropping dead in your cubicle with nothing accomplished, nothing finished? How could you ever think that you would be okay living your life in a cubicle again? And still you try. You apply to jobs promising safety, promising health, promising security...Security is the whore in you that never lets you fly. You're so close. You're so close. Don't give up on me yet. Don't give up on us yet."
This hits a little closer to home than I'd like. It's what I've been thinking about most of the time.
I lost my marriage, my pets, my home, and any sense of security. I lost a great set of in-laws. I lost the future I thought I'd have with the man I thought I knew. But in the wreckage of all, that, I got the job at the Good Barn.
For strictly financial reasons, I may have to give that up.
When I told the Husband that I was going to a staffing agency, he made a face and said, I wish you wouldn't go looking for a day job just yet. Can you work forty hours a week and then teach until seven or eight at night?
Watch me. Watch me do it because I need this. When I worked forty hours a week and then went to the barn and rode almost every night, I was happy - and, given the amount of time I've had to think about things since The Disaster, I've realized that I haven't been happy since.
Twelve years is a long time to be unhappy.
When I got the job at the Good Barn, I thought it was a sign that things were turning around. Now, while I know that most of us whose talents are a bit off the beaten path usually have to have day jobs, I do not for the life of me understand why the Universe would grant me my heart's desire - teaching at the Good Barn - and then make me give it up.
This has been a trend since The Disaster; if I want something, I'm almost assured that it'll look like I'm going to get it, only to have it pulled away at the last second. It's made me afraid to want. It's made me afraid to dream. At the same time, I'm afraid not to, because the things that make me who and what I am aren't going to go away. Insurance and a 401K aren't going to make my heart sing; guaranteed hours and paid holidays don't make me feel like I'm doing what I was meant to do. At the same time, Uncle Aleister never said that doing your True Will would pay the bills, did he?
So I burn candles, I sprinkle incense, I wear a charm in my sports bra. And every day, I pray - please, let me have this.