A few years ago I contemplated heading back to work full-time, so I took a position that was temporary with the option of permanency. I was there for about two months when I did a sit-down with the big boss and argued that my position should be eliminated right before turning in my notice. In my other life as a do-gooder, honesty is always the policy I go with.
In my do-gooder life, I put together big fundraising events for worthy causes as a way to make the world a better place. In my life as a punk, I relish watching certain segments of the world burn while I eat popcorn. On some levels, I'm sure I'm a head shrinker's dream.
Getting back to the temporary position, while at the job I would talk myself out of, I worked with a woman who was about in her mid-50s, and had been doing events for years, and she was done. It was the first time in my life that I realized there would come a day when I just didn't want to do events anymore.
Fast forward three years to this past Wednesday where I was sitting in Day 2 of a three-day grant writing class. It was a small, nine person class for nonprofit professionals, so there was great shop talk, and schmoozing. Everyone, except me, worked for a nonprofit organization, and I think they were a bit skeptical about who I was, because I was a dreaded "consultant". By Day 2, they knew that, not only, did I know my stuff, I knew quite a bit about the nonprofit world, in general.
At the end of the class, a nice young man from a great organization came up and asked me why I wasn't in a director level position at a high profile nonprofit. This is a question I have grappled with, and have asked myself several times. I have the experience, the professional accomplishment, and sometimes, the desire, but there is one reason why I'm not at a major organization collecting a six-figure salary and doing million dollar events: my girls.
I told him that I choose to work as a consultant, because it affords me the freedom of schedule needed to pick my kids up everyday from school, schlep them to their activities, do all of the mom volunteering, and be there for them 95% of the time. I told him that I had a 13 year old and a 7 year old, and he thought about it, and said, "that's a 24 year gap".
24 years seems like a very long time, and to this young man, who was unmarried with no kids, and likely in his mid-20s, the idea of suspending a career for 24 years is probably unimaginable. What this young man doesn't understand is that, in the big scheme of things, spending 18 years raising a child doesn't seem like 18 years. 18 is a big number when thinking about years, but it flies by in the day-to-day of raising kids. My oldest is 13, and in 5 years she will be heading off to college, and the major part of my job will be over. 5 years will fly by.
If someone would have told me when I was in my mid-20s that I would choose to forego a lucrative career to raise kids, I would have thought they were crazy, but here I am and this is what I'm doing. Some days, particularly when my 7 year old is driving me up a wall, the years can't go by quick enough, then other days I pine for the times when my girls were babies, and I could snuggle them close while they slept in my arms.
I'm not an executive director or vice president of a high-level nonprofit organization, but my daughter told me today that she thinks I'm the bravest person she knows. In 11 years, I will be 55 and an empty nester. I could step back into the 9-to-5 world and run a prestigious nonprofit, but I think I'll transition into grant writing, because you can do that from anywhere. I'll spend my precious years before the AARP card traveling and writing grants in the mornings on my laptop while dressed in a billowy, comfortable kaftan, sipping tea, and listening to the Misfits.
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