Friday, September 11, 2015

Making it count.

I've now officially been at my new job for over a month. My new life has nearly completely eclipsed and overwhelmed my old life -- how strange to go from being at home and seeing pretty much five people a day and having our home as the centre of my world, to being gone nearly sixty hours a week, seeing dozens and dozens of people everyday, and being displaced so far from my heart.

The days are long, but fine, the weeks are longer but tolerable. It's considering the endless months that breaks my heart. That, and the nights I walk in the front door and tiptoe directly into the room of my two littlest girls, and the fat baby wakes slightly and excites... "Mama! Home again." And then smiles her funny gooby smile and whispers in a hush so quiet it can hardly be heard in the dark night, "Miss you". That's the part that breaks my heart. 

I thought having a job would give me a direction, a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, and a greater purpose. Instead I have found, while a more than worthwhile endeavour and one that is certainly of benefit beyond measure, it is simply not the great purpose in my life I thought it would be. 

Perhaps purpose will come with time. Or maybe ever at all. 

In the meanwhile, I'm trying to make downtime at work, the three hours of commute, and most wonderfully, weekends at home count. I'm not sure how much crummy sketchbook watercolours count for, but I know I count on weekends with my four lovely girls to carry me through the week. And they always do.

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