I have two beings, one on each shoulder. No devil horns or halos, just two mini versions of me, each with some very valid, logical points. Each with their own agenda. Each yammering at me. It never ends.

I guess I should begin at the beginning.

I’ve never had a career. I’ve had a lot of ideas of what I would like to do, even taken the initial steps towards establishing myself in some kind of profession. But I’ve never actually, ya know, done it.

When I was 12 I worked at my Grandma’s daycare each summer. I was still enough of a kid to enjoy getting paid to play with little kids. When I was 16 I got a job at Dairy Queen, where I worked until I was 20. (even while I held other jobs.) I liked it. I liked cooking, it was fast paced and I found most of my coworkers amusing.

At 18 I got a job at a local appliance/home furnishings store. It was my first desk job and once I got past my training period I would routinely finish all the work given to me in the morning within the first two hours. It was insanely, mind numbingly boring. I asked for more work. For some reason this angered my boss and my coworkers and I was too immature and inexperienced to stick up for myself. I stuck with it for six months until I couldn’t take it anymore.

After that I got a job working as a traveling house cleaner, which was actually pretty interesting. I worked alone, went to awesome homes and set my own schedule. The pay was decent. Until one day one of my customers decided to expose himself to me, then called my boss and lied about me when my reaction was not what he had hoped for. I was reprimanded, even though this particular client had a history of such occurrences. I quit.

I delivered phone books. I temped a few times. I continued to work at Dairy Queen. I started college classes 3 separate times… and dropped out 3 times. I had vague and blurry notions of nursing school… fashion design… veterinary school… chiropractic college… journalism… teaching… each new path burned bright within me for a few weeks or months. And then I lost interest. At some point, without even knowing it, I gave up. I just had no clue, no money, no experience and no real drive.

I got married. I moved to Japan. I taught English to little kids and senior citizens and young Okinawan women looking for an American husband at a funky little school near our apartment in Chatan-Cho. I loved it. I loved my students. I loved the fact that I had to make up my own lesson plans and most of my teaching materials. I did not love it when my boss began regularly sexually harassing me. (He was an American expatriate, who was later arrested for embezzling from the school he ran.) Apparently he did this to everyone who worked there and got away with it or lost interest after awhile. It frightened and disgusted me, but my paralyzing fear in the face of conflict kept me from giving him what for. (Sometimes I wish my now-self could meet him. We would have an interesting discussion. It might involve my fist.) Once again, I quit. I was pregnant and I rationalized to myself that was a good excuse.

When my son was a little over a year and we were moved back home for good I decided to go to culinary school. I love to cook and I was sick of not being able to figure out what I wanted to do. I figured I would always be able to work as a chef, so I spent a year in training. I loved it. I was good at it. But the amount of money I would make wouldn’t even cover my daycare costs. And the hours I would have to work didn’t quite mesh with mommyhood. And, frankly, I found the elitism, the militaristic rank of the kitchen ridiculous. It dawned on me that I might not be happy in that chosen field. (It should have rung bells in my head when my favorite part of the class was writing up my business plan for a restaurant project. I finished mine and ghostwrote several of my classmates in between class.)

I did a few catering gigs, here and there. I stayed in school taking writing classes, business classes and general ed requirements, but I never got a degree. I had another baby. I had a really severe bout of depression. I took a short lived but endlessly amusing job testing blood at a canine blood bank.

Once my daughter was about 8 months old I took a job at a hospital an hour and a half away as a diet clerk. I commuted for eight months. I ran mealtimes, calculated patient menus and acted as the admin assistant for the nutrition department. I loved it. I helped set up a new software system and helped train my department in automated ordering. My love of databases blossomed during this time period as I found myself analyzing and reanalyzing the sections and categories we had set up in my dreams.) But the toll of commuting and being away from my kids so much wore on me and when I injured my back and was literally unable to move, I quit.

I took a few jobs I was ill suited or grossly overqualified for, simply because a.) I felt I didn’t really deserve better and b.) I still had no idea what I wanted to do. I began working as an administrative assistant for a birth announcement company from home, which was an awesome job. But, I quickly learned that situations that appear too good to be true often are. My best friend and I opened our own business and then realized that life was pulling us each in different directions. We let go of that business and I opened my own. Within weeks I was getting clients and completing projects.

Running VVS has been amazing and rewarding and I would love to see it turn into something bigger. But I’m torn. The money I make is great… but spotty. And unpredictable. I’m alone an awful lot. I’m not now, nor will I ever be, a good salesperson. Sometimes I don’t really feel like an adult or a professional for that matter. I’m trying to learn web design, so that someday I might be able to add those services to my business. But, its difficult and every time I feel like I learn something I realize just how little I actually know. It feels daunting. Maybe it would be better for me to get out there and get a “real” job. Maybe I would grow and change and finally stumble into a career. Or maybe I have found my career and it just doesn’t resemble anything like what I ever thought it would. That seems to be normal in any case.

At any rate, my youngest child’s starting kindergarten next week has stirred up a lot of this internal conflict. I can’t go out and get a job right now anyway, since I will be dropping the kids off at eight, picking up Ivy at noon and then going back to get Ozzie at 3:30 and I can’t imagine where I would find a job that would allow me that sort of schedule. Or pay me as much as I currently make. Or allow me the time and freedom to work on my writing. And gardening. And sewing. And cooking. And then I think about how much I love doing all those things… and how much falls by the wayside when I work outside the home. Its a tough call. And while I feel like a heel complaining about it (since I know there are a lot of women who would love to be in my place) the feelings are there, nonetheless, and must be acknowledged.

Is it possible to feel like you are living the dream and still be peeking at the grass over the fence??