I'm right where I'm supposed to be.
- Aniston, LA
Ten years seem to be a long time to get comfortable into a routine. Knowing how many days out of a week that you have to head in to your desk, remembering to lock up your laptop in the same cabinet before you leave (that's if it's a work-free weekend), landing in Jakarta after a straight-up 7-hour flight to wash up for tomorrow's 8am start with the client, a 2200 hour ETD that evening itself. All too easy to have a story to tell. You belong, somewhere. Right?
It definitely felt like that for myself. The ride was definitely whacky. Funny at times, but also exhilarating in others. Quiet dinners at times are a god-sent, and the luxury of knowing that you can afford a few minutes to shower before the transit flight took off, what a necessity!
I had always prepared for that moment, and when Mr. Cain's voice came over the call to offer me the job, it was pretty clear what my next move was supposed to be. Incredulously, there were also pundits who thought I was too junior for the job. Silly geese.
But do some journeys lose their lustre after a while?
I was analysing a read (believe it or not) titled the yummy mummy's manifesto. Besides being a complete toes-tickling piece of work, it also covered an interesting chapter on the identity of the stay-home mum versus the working mum. One can't help but question as debatable this dead horse is, we are still flogging it. Do we need a title to make a cross over from the office to home, and vice versa? I work in my home office. Am I suppose to be telling people who ask me that proverbial KL-ite question "What do you do?" that I'm not your forehead crinkled, bomba red lipsticked face that fumed over her steering wheel at 9:30am every morning on Jalan Semantan?
All too often I am amused to a certain extent on how people seem to give a very diplomatic acknowledgement, closely resembling an exhaled air of confusion meshed up to sound like a "yes-I-know-what-you-are-saying-but-could-you-care-to-explain-please?"... Perhaps I am getting to way ahead of myself and looking too far into the abyss of clarity. After all, they are stabbing in the dark while figuring out the reason why I chose to "leave" a good paying position in the rat race to opt to cover my own interests, to start from ground zero again, and pursue my (another dead horse) passion.
Yes, yes... the corporate training sessions drilled it enough. To get ahead, you need to be passionate about your work. Then you never have to work ever again in your life. Firms are always looking for passionate things. We recognise its significance, are willing to pay for it, too tired to identify it amongst the piles of resume, wish it would just knock on our doors, begging them not to resign, telling them the overseas' position is currently unavailable but you see some goon that doesn't speak the local lingua franca and nails the job, you get counter-offered, all those messy phone calls, awkward exit interviews.
So, what's passion again?
I was disillusioned by that word. What is my passion? Really.
It took nights of agonised contemplation, endless State of the Union address with like-minded people, a few cup noodles, and a negotiated sabbatical. I had to get out to get back with the programme.
I was just thinking today, would it be easier to just tell people that I'm a dog walker, a mum (pretend that I have kids), or that I had just got lucky with the lottery? Why all the gold fish eyes when I say that I'm starting again from a clean slate, working my way on building my writing, connecting with my network that I had been rusty on, doing all the hard yards, the ground work to prepare for the eventual opportunity?
It takes a heck of self-belief, almost in the proportion of insanity to continue telling yourself that this is where you are supposed to be. It's not easy, there is too much distraction, self-anointed professional advice coming my way, envious discouragement, and the like. I know I am supposed to be here. All fertile grounds are around me, I'm standing on it every day. I'm also resurrecting the old abilities that I have long kept away because they didn't fit into the rat race schedule. I just need to learn now to connect what I naturally do best, with what I already have built as my foundation structure to support what I know lies ahead of me.
Going back to the racing ground is easy. It blends you in with the mad camouflage of indecent timelines, after work drinks, and getting stuck in traffic. The blackberry and nice airport lounges fade off after a while. I am loving what I do, I wake up with plenty to achieve. It just feels a bit like a baby gazelle wobbling up on my new label.
What am I? How should I address myself? Ms. Bohemian (actually quite like that)?
Heck with it. I'll tell you once I figure it out. Meanwhile, there is too much still left for me to do from today, and I know that I am at where I am supposed to be.
