A dear friend at church was so ecstatic over my “retirement” that she treated me to a fancy lunch last week. We had a lovely afternoon visiting over a delicious meal and lingering over tea. The day before I had treated myself to a massage, and all week pretty much luxuriated in a sweatpants-and-no-makeup existence. This is a true story of my first week after leaving my job.
Also a true story: I am out of bed every day before 7:00 a.m. and by 8:30 a.m. I have made the coffee, eaten breakfast, walked the dog, showered, dressed and am seated at my computer. Because I am self-employed.
I had generously given myself a pass to fully embrace my situation and take it leisurely through the first week or two of my New Era. But a creature of habit craves routine and I just couldn’t loll around and do nothing; four minutes of Maury Povich while eating my customary mid-morning snack was reassurance enough that I would likely not form a long term relationship with the t.v. remote.
Proof that I can relax.
Then, Day One after lunch brought a thrilling email inquiring about my writing services. That job together with another article for a local weekly newspaper mean that…I am a self-employed freelance writer. And time is money.
The rise of the sun tomorrow morning marks the first time since the summer after my college graduation that I have a tenth consecutive wake-up without a “job destination.” I’m a little less panicked this time around.
I enter into Week Two with paying writing jobs, a stack of reading material, enough “To Do’s” that I had to download a calendar and task-list add-on, and the growing realization of what people mean when they say, “It doesn’t feel like work when you love it.”