So, I'll introduce myself for those of you who don't already know me. I'm an introvert; one thing that many of us have in common is that we find introductions and meeting new people uncomfortable in general (much better if I don't have to see you in person. No offence). Making a "good first impression" in a social setting is seen as synonymous with making an impression of being talkative, outgoing, and overtly fun; this just doesn't fit with who I am. And to make an uncomfortable situation worse, the inevitable question always comes up, "So, what do you do?"
That's when I'm tempted to say "Did you see that hyena?!" And then hide under the nearest table while the other person is distracted. It's not that I'm an axe murderer by trade, it's just that I really don't know what to say much of the time. The fact is that I'm um.... over 40 and haven't figured out what I want to be when I grow up.
Let's back up a few years. I was respectably and gainfully employed with a local immigrant serving organization. I coordinated an employment program for professionally trained immigrants who were looking for work in Saskatchewan in their area of expertise. And I was good at it. The program was extremely successful, highly subscribed to, and respected. The people who participated in the program were amazing. Think about this -you have a good, high level job, your friends and family nearby, and a familiar environment. You make the decision to step into the unknown, where you don't know anyone, don't speak the language fluently, and may never again work in your profession, let alone attain the level of position you once held. I have an indescribable amount of respect for my participants - their strength, resourcefulness, and capacity to both learn and teach. I think that I and many others would have collapsed under similar conditions.
I'd held that position for over 8 years; I'd seen changes, both good and bad, and I'd seen many things stay the same. Most days, I still enjoyed what I did. Most of the time, I still enjoyed my workplace and coworkers. But, I increasingly felt that I was DONE. Not burnt out, just...finished. However, I didn't know what else I wanted to do. For a variety of reasons, I wasn't interested in working for another immigrant serving organization; there was little opportunity to do something different in the organization I worked with. I'd come into my position in the first place due to opportunity, rather than as part of a career plan, so not surprisingly, I didn't have a plan of what to do next. So, I asked for and was granted an unpaid year's leave of absence, so that I would have time and space to figure out what to do.
I realized very quickly that I did not have it in me to return to my previous position; the fact that I missed very little about my work was a quite blatant clue! I officially resigned about three-quarters through my leave.
Lovely. Now I knew what I didn't want to do, but not so much what I did. I had been doing some contract writing and editing work for the provincial immigration department, aided by the work I'd done and contacts that I'd made over the last number of years. Perhaps freelance writing as a career?
Since that time, I've done several more writing contracts, and reached some conclusions. Getting government contracts is fine, but inconsistent. I have huge issues with trying to market myself to others, partially because I'd rather chew off my own foot than make cold calls, and partially because I've done very little work not related somehow to immigrant/immigration issues. And in spite of having the "right" affiliations (Associate Member, Professional Writers' Association of Canada and Editors' Association of Canada), I don't feel like a writer if I'm not working on anything at the moment. Blog notwithstanding, I also don't feel particularly compelled to write; most "proper" writers that I've spoken to do have the compulsion.
What else could I do?
Stay tuned for "About Me...." part 2, wherein our heroine learns that rocks, ceramics and bones are great fun, and sometimes you just have to deal with being older than everyone else in the room.
And for reading this far, here's a picture for you:
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| Our late lamented Paris explains to Buster why there is no &^%$#! way she is sharing the chair |
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