I realize a lot of my thoughts lately have been focused on jobly things, but…well, that’s what I’ve been thinking about.
Choosing a job is a huge thing.
At least for me, my job always becomes a huge player in the way I live my life. Maybe it shouldn’t, maybe I get too involved.
But how could it not?
I know jobs are hard to come by in today’s economy. I know that sometimes you have to do what you have to do (duh. I hate phrases like that. Of course you have to do what you have to do. It’s needlessly repetitive. Anyway).
To phrase it differently, I know that sometimes you have to take your place in an environment that you wouldn’t otherwise choose.
But what if you have a choice?
My husband goes to work every day at a job he hates so that we can buy diapers. Formula. Clothes. Food. You know, things that matter.
On the weekends (and sometimes during the week), he comes alive. He comes home from Kroger (after shopping, not working), puts on pajama pants, throws a towel over his shoulder and quite frankly dirties more dishes than I would previously have believed is possible. He creates things in the kitchen – that’s what he loves. Sometimes the product is wonderful (lemon tarts, anyone?), sometimes it’s surprising (those New Year spring rolls were awesome, and I expected to hate them), and sometimes it’s just not my cup of tea (I admit it here and now, those catfish tacos were not my favorite. It’s not you, it’s me).
I hate that he can’t do what he loves for a living. Given the choice, I’d work at whatever I had to and I’d let him do whatever it took to achieve his dream. Truth be told, that’s what I’m trying to do. I don’t have that choice yet.
This is what I love. And I can always do this. But until someone falls into my lap with a book tour and bouquets of hundred dollar bills, I can do whatever it takes to make the choices that give him the chance to do what he loves. That’s a relationship, right? That’s what love is.