Cups & Spills: Part II

On fumbling, forgetting, and failing.

One year ago, to the day, I published a newsletter that dug into the realities of life as a freelancer. Ok, it was basically a list of complaints. But, I felt compelled to reveal the underbelly of contractor life because working for yourself, in any capacity, is generally romanticized. And, for good reason! It feels pretty powerful to be your own boss.

But, we all know what Aunt May said, “With great power, comes great responsibility.” There are many disadvantages and stressors when working for yourself, particularly when you’re also trying to support a family. That’s where I was a year ago, yelling a request into the digital void for someone to put me out of my financial unstable misery with a full-time job.

The internet answered. I got that full-time job.

Then, I started grad school.

Then, I proceeded to do this job, part-time school, and caring for an infant and a toddler.

“I don’t know how you do it,” has been the consensus reaction. “I mean, good for you, but I quite literally don’t know how you’re physically doing it.”

“I’m a machine,” I would say. “Every moment of my day is completely optimized.”

The real answer not being said was, “Not well.”

Because, as we all know, machines are prone to breaking.

A few weeks ago, I opened my Amazon app and began to type “Cuisinart coffee––” No need to finish my query before the replacement coffee carafe listing shot to the top of the results. “Reorder?" It prompted me. See, this wasn’t the first time I’d hastily been cleaning and dropped the pot to its shattering death in the sink.

Two weeks later, a drinking glass slipped from my hand––pieces flying everywhere––right before I was headed to bed.

I drop my phone at least ten times a day, and by the grace of the Apple gods, it does not splinter into a million pieces. I recently tried to recall Kathryn Hahn’s name for an entire day, finally saying out loud, “It starts with a M?”

Driven by the CVS receipt of responsibilities chasing me all day, I’m moving too fast. And, as a result, I’m breaking a lot of shit. No, really. I don’t stop moving from the time I wake up, until I go to bed. Also, shit just keeps breaking on its own, somehow, like our front window which had a giant rock hurled at it a few weeks ago.

With sleeping about six hours at night, I’m busy 18 hours a day, every day. There is no break from parenting and domestic work. And, between job work and studying for graduate school, I somehow still find projects to fill in any remaining holes that pop up in between.

While the kids and housework consume a very sizable portion of my waking (and occasionally non-waking) hours, I must be honest that this go-go-go personality has been with me a while. I’ve never been very skilled at the art of relaxing. I loathe sitting still longer than a half hour. I find purpose and happiness in productivity––a double edged sword, to be sure. It’s not always something to be admired, trust me.

A former employer once gave me, what I consider to be, the best compliment ever. He said, “You have so much inertia.” For those of you who haven’t taken a physics class in or watched an episode of Billy Nye (or Mr. Wizard for the 80’s PBS kids out there) in a while, inertia is Newton’s first law of motion, which states that objects want to stay in rest or motion unless an outside force causes a change. Typically, when used to describe a person, I’ve mostly heard it referring to the rest part. But, in my case, he meant the opposite. He was trying to compliment my ability to keep moving and pushing forward at all times.

Since having children, I’ve found that parenthood has made me even sharper in many ways. The sheer amount of bullshit I can anticipate, and the volume of tasks I’ve delegated to autopilot in my brain, has brought me to near-ninja status. Yet, in so many other respects, I’ve become duller. Hence, the coffee carafe, almost broken phone screen, and poor celebrity names that get butchered by my decimated recall abilities.

I fumble. I forget. I fail. Maybe an object in motion shouldn’t always stay in motion.

Lately, the broken glass all around me feels like a poetic metaphor. A visceral sign from the universe.

Today, one year after writing my first newsletter by the same name, I’m back where I started as a freelancer again. It feels scary, unexpected, but freeing in many ways. Doors close and doors open.

After three years working for myself, I was nervous to take a full-time role again. I had freelanced for years, but not as my sole source of income. It took a tremendous amount of work to build up my business to a point where I could comfortably help support my family, and it felt like a big jump to give it all up––even for the promise of stability. And, I was fearful to return to the 9-5 grind because, though I was a seasoned employee, I had never done it as a parent. My only experience as a working parent, was as my own boss.

I didn’t know if I could do it. And, one year later, I still very seriously question my ability to balance both. That makes me sad, for both myself and for all the working moms. It’s not me (or you); it’s the system.

Admittedly, I once scoffed at mothers who took time off from their careers to stay at home with the kids. HOW?! WHY?! I ever so naively judged. Because, younger self, it’s too fucking hard to do both. It has nothing to do with ambition, drive, or joy in the work. It’s just physically impossible to both at the same time, and do them well. Could I financially swing it, I’d gladly take two years off with plenty of laundry, cleaning, grocery shopping, child shuttling, and snot sucking to keep me busy for days on end. What a reprieve from the burden of splitting yourself in two, or three, or even four, as I have often done this past year.

Full-time work doesn’t always promise stability, just as working for yourself doesn’t always provide power. Parenting doesn’t always feel joyful, just as independence doesn’t always bring freedom. Nothing can ever be the perfect fit when everything is always changing.

So, I will stay an object in motion. But, maybe now I’ll try not to be moving quite so fast. Surely, I will still fumble, forget, and fail.

I am not, as it turns out, a machine after all.