I Don't Know What to Do with My Life

I'm desperately trying to figure out what's next in my life as my boss is moving to Colorado. Do I: a) stay here and run the Rochester office or b) accept the fact that 10 years is a long run and move on? If the answer is b), the next question is: move on to what?

Thank God I have a customized CareerBuilder feed to help me answer these life-altering questions and point me in the right direction.

Pole Dancing

A few years ago, we went to Parents' Night at our kids' preschool. On the wall were pictures that our kids drew of us along with descriptions that they dictated and the teachers typed. Son #2's said, "My mama works in a church." My neighbors thought that was pretty darned funny.

My girlfriend Mary's said, "My mom has hairy legs." Classic. And even funnier. (She was absolutely mortified.)

Jennifer, my coworker, just told me that she had too many vodka and cranberries on a trip to Lake George years ago and ended up puking on the side of the road as her husband drove the family home from dinner. When they went to the second grade open house, her daughter had drawn the requisite "What I did over summer vacation" picture and wrote, "I painted the town red with my mommy." Yep, a fully illustrated reminder complete with a red line down the road.

You gotta love kids.

My friend Petey sent me a link to this story this morning. Oddly enough, I think this lady has all of us beat!

Hey Mambo

When I was little, I was into all sorts of performance arts-related stuff that has since fallen by the wayside. I took summer acting classes at Nazareth College, performed in all of our school plays (including an ill-fated production of Gilbert & Sullivan's The Mikado which may explain why I hate musicals today) and took modern dance at the University of Rochester. My first dance classes, however, took place in our town's original, one-room, school house. At the end of one session, we painted sheets and put on an eclectic show for our parents. Our "art work" was later hung in a now-defunct gallery that sat alongside the canal next to the Del Monte Lodge.

Even though it is located less than a mile from our house, I was in the Mile Post School House last night for the first time in over 30 years for a cub scout meeting. It definitely took me back in time. I wanted to clear out the tables, chairs and chalk board and start dancing wildly. Thankfully, my professional sensibility and wraparound, black dress kept me in line.

At the end of the night, we learned that each parent has to conduct one cub scout meeting per year. People were stating their preferences such as, "I'll lead the Webelos Outdoorsman activity." I remained silent knowing that I have pretty much nothing to offer the group until Tommy's dad chimed in, "Hey Mrs. R., you gonna get these kids their M&A badges?"

I drove home while thinking: how did my life come to this?

I just wanna dance.

Headin' to the Betty

I decided to cease drinking for 40 days in a bit of a self-imposed, spiritual quest. I felt convicted that if I'm seeking clarity from God, I need to respond in kind. I'm fairly certain that it would be difficult for Him to provide keen insight if my mind is dulled by Pinot Noir.

Like management consulting, the best work in the world (i.e., God's, of course!) will go unheeded if there is not a dedicated receiver at the client site (i.e., my addled brain).

So I'm cleaning up my act with the hope that I can gain some lucidity regarding my so-called career. Whereas, to co-opt a term that my pastor uses, there's a bit of a "God on demand" quotient in this pursuit, I understand fully that there is no guarantee that I will achieve anything more than my current state of angst-riddled ambiguity. But I have faith. And there's no foreseeable downside to this effort that I'm aware of.

It's been only 10 days thus far and counting. Yet here's where I find it alarming: like going without a cigarette when you first quit, I have recently found myself craving a glass of wine or a dirty martini. Worrisome, no?

Last night, I went out to dinner with my girlfriends and for the first time -- since high school?!-- I didn't have a single drink with them. Every once in a while, throughout the evening, I would get a pang of desire followed by internal bartering (e.g., just one sip will be okay). Thankfully I didn't cave. And we had a blast.

At the end of the night, my girlfriends suggested that if I really want some spiritual insights, I should begin smoking peyote.

Instead, maybe I'll have a peyote smoothie.

I Just Gotta Be Me

I ran across this simple quote from Annie Dillard and it made me gasp:

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.

Is this really how I want to spend my life?

I was speaking with a potential client last week and, at the end of our professional conversation which went extremely well, I shared a silly story with him. He politely stood up to leave and I was immediately stricken with self-doubt and loathing. I was asking myself on the drive home and well into the night, "Why did you have to add that last part?" or "Why can't you learn to keep your mouth shut?" WWSD? (Insert boss' name instead of Jesus.)

My boss and I talked about this scenario on our way home from another client in the Adirondacks late last night. She had a similar experience with him and felt much the same as I. A little comforting but it still begs the question: Am I living my life with integrity?

Am I being myself? Can I find a so-called career that better suits me? While I'm increasingly more comfortable in a stifling professional environment, I want more. Half the time, I feel like I'm pretending to be someone else.

I really do love my clients. I want them to succeed. I enjoy helping them.

But can't I do it with a hint of personality, too? Or is that unacceptable?

I just want to dance.