I just failed, big time. I failed my family, I failed myself. But why…why do I feel…great?
I found the answer when I was perusing Give Me Back My Five Bucks, in the blog post “if you’re not failing, are you really trying?” This was my life, and now that I’ve failed at it, I’m forced to try. I was complacent for so long, wanting to do something else, something more, something different but never willing to let go of the safety nets that were built around me…they’re gone now. My husband is, understandably, freaked and I am so sorry for making him feel that way. My son is blissfully unaware of anything except learning his ABC’s, and my fetus, well. It is just…creating. I am almost thrilled.
Krystal wrote “But everything changes when we learn to take chances. Life happens. You learn quickly from your mistakes, and a good argument can be made that you learn more from failure than from success.” I failed miserably, and now I see wide open spaces in front of me. The hatred I felt going into work everyday – gone. The despair at being stuck in a situation that I never thought I could extricate myself from – vanished. The loneliness at having to deal with no friends, no social network at my work – lifted. It’s amazing, really.
My husband asked me, right after this all happened, “Well, here’s the question you’ve been asking yourself for the last 10 years. What do you want to do?” He’s so right.
For years, I loved waiting tables and tending bar. I adored it. But I didn’t feel like I could make a living at it for the rest of my life, and so I found a “real” job. It was a receptionist. I hated it. It’s the most boring job in the world. Then I became an Executive Assistant, which, while interesting, was weird. It was just odd. Then I changed employers, kept the title, and realized in other worlds, Executive Assistant means “mommy”. As in, “you have to remind me to wipe my butt!”. Literally, that was said to me.
I *wanted* to be a writer. I *wanted* to go into publishing. I *wanted* to work at the Humane Society, or at a non-profit that I believed in. I *wanted* to do a lot of things that I have never, ever done. I kept at the safe jobs, the safety nets. When I failed at being someone’s mommy, I ended up back in restaurants, waiting tables and bar tending. I love it, I still do – but I still can’t justify doing it with a baby and a bump. So what am I going to do now?
It’s a big wide world out there. I could become an RN (vetoed after my husband reminded me I’d have to jab needles into people), I could become an EMT (vetoed by my husband as he stated I’d need better driving skills in order to not run over people; he also noted I’d have to administer CPR to people lying on sidewalks with roaches crawling all over them and perform emergency tracheotomies – such a debbie downer he is). I could go be a food specialist at a retail store (applied for that), could go into the world of wine like him, could go back to school and get a Master’s in…something. There’s so much I could do.
What I should do? I should get a job in administration like I have experience in.
What I’m going to do? I’m going to try. I’m going to try to get a job in a field and a company I believe in and would enjoy. I’m going to write and try to build this blog. I’m going to try to finish my novel that has laid stagnant in my documents folder. I’m going to try to be the person I want to be, instead of stagnating in an office I hate, with people I feel lonely around, at a job I despise. I’m going to try to be the best mother I can be to my son, and the best wife I can to my husband.
I can try at so many things now, all because I failed.
by Bruno Mars
