What am I gonna do with an extra 60 hours a week?

I believe women do what they have to do to protect their families. 23 years ago when my then-husband left, I became a statistic, and as a single mom with two children (introducing Jen and Jared) to support, the JOB was a blessing. Traumatized but surviving, the JOB meant security. Then along came a dashing young rescuer (meet Kirk), who swooped us off our feet and patched up our hearts. We all fell in love and married again. The JOB, however, symbolized my independence, which I was not about to relinquish - no siree Bob-or-Barbara! A few years of life later, with a mortgage and two more sons (please join me in welcoming Josh and Justin), the JOB had become necessary. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye (because that’s really what it felt like) and with all four children raised, the JOB, which had long-ago taken on a life of its own, subtly and incrementally became an obsession.

A year ago, we merged our boutique agency with our biggest competitor, aka, Big Bad Wolf (BBW). Bestowed with a Partner title, and (not gonna lie) a big fat paycheck, I had high hopes for experiencing life outside of work. Instead, the last 12 months have been filled with self-discovery and acceptance of some cold, hard truths. In the industry where I accidentally landed 23 years ago, there are a handful of successful female producers/consultants, and I respect them all. They are women with intellect, ingenuity and MOXIE! A couple of my six male partners at BBW (bless their little chauvinistic hearts-don’t judge them, I try not to) contributed significantly to my discovery that, as it turns out, I am MOXIE-less, a difficult confession, but true nonetheless. Acceptance of the harsher, colder truth descended more slowly, and only after several nights of finding mine was the only car left in the parking lot, yet again.

The truth? Me and my fully-loaded sports car were on the fast track to Who-Knows-Whereville. I don’t remember exactly how I got to that place, but I knew with every fiber of my defiant being, that the only way off the road to Whereville, was to drive off the cliff. So that’s what I did. I drove off the cliff (metaphorically speaking of course). I quit my job (in case that was too vague). The most embarrassing self-revelation is that I burned a lot of hours in the last few years, working my guts out for people who had no idea how hard I was working, and who will not remember my name in a month, if they still do now. That’s a crash-landing-reality-check more traumatic than I anticipated. But it’s a new blog, a new day, a new year, and the rest of what’s left of my life. I can always make the most with the rest of what’s left, right?