He had a headhunter looking for someone just like me. Last week I received a similar heads-up and had forwarded my resume to someone else at the same recruiting firm. A follow up phone call was on my list for today.
No sooner had this friend hung up when another call came from the headhunter himself. (Why do I see shades of my first husband’s Borneo Blow Gun collections in my mind when I hear that term?) I shot off my resume in an email, he called back and we set up a meeting for this Thursday. BAM.
OK, I thought, I need to vacuum for a while on this one. Mindless activity, that actually has a positive result, regardless of the outcome of my decision is always good. The job is in Boston, bad. It pays what I used to make, good. What if I can’t even get past the interview? Am I still good enough to play in corporate America? Suddenly, I “almost” desperately wanted the job.
That’s when the alter ego struck. “You promised yourself to see the novel through. You committed yourself. Why, just this morning at the local breakfast joint, (an activity you craved being able to do regularly in the old world), someone introduced you as a writer.”
Fiscal Responsibility looks like a disapproving parent, a nun, a teacher you frantically want to impress. FR wears dark clothes of the finest cloth and speaks in numbers and “corporateese”. FR points to what you are doing at this very moment, vacuuming at 2:00 in the afternoon, and pantomimes disappointment with furrowed brow.
Creativity is a salacious lover. C woos you with all your senses and surrounds you with sunshine and calm waters. “See how much more beautiful and sensual your world has become? The photos and words make you whole and light!”
FR looks upon C as a dalliance, a fun fancy that has run its course. “You aren’t old enough to retire but you may be too old to get a job like this if you wait around for disaster to strike.” The truth is my skills at being the kind of “responsible” person I used to be are dulled beyond recognition. Can I even speak the language of my old job?
Then my mind screamed”STOP!” and I shut off the vacuum. I started jotting down names I could use for references on Thursday while thumbing through my dusty closet.
C sidled up and leaned against the closet door, arms folded across his chest with a quizzical look on his face. He has me at quizzical. I love that word. I love words! I am seduced again.
A soaking, pounding rain came up out of nowhere. After a winter of constant snow, the sound seemed foreign and stopped me in my blithering.
I looked around and saw my world of huge windows full of light, soft music of my choosing, and adoring animals who are definitely taking advantage of the situation. I then imagined the picture without me in it…
Nothing requires a decision today. Nothing is pressing. Thursday I will go through the motions of putting on that old skin and walking around in it. Maybe that will be enough to tell me which path to pursue. I’ve straddled these worlds before and am better equipped to do it again having had this time to reflect on what makes me feel whole.
2 comments on “A Tale of Two Egos”
Best of luck Martha…follow your heart.Heather
Somewhere there is a balance between FR and C, although few ever find it. Listen to Jiminy Cricket and let conscience be your guide. Best of luck either way!