Birthday

For my 39th birthday, which was this past Tuesday, I got myself a job. I spent the day getting oriented to some systems I helped put together. The walls of the conference room were made of glass so people periodically walked by and, if they noticed me, many gave looks of surprise, glee, confusion. Wait. . .what are you doing here? Are you back? I am back.

I went back to work again, for the third time since becoming a mom. The first time I pitched a project management job after giving up my full time management job--I did that for a year and then got laid off. The second time I went to work for a new employer, in a related field and with people I knew well. I am still doing that job. This last time I went back to my old company, in a role new to me. I took the job I have wanted since shortly after I started working there, back in 2003. I am a Family Resource Coordinator and I will be supporting families in their grief as they contemplate the loss of and lose loved ones. I will be talking to them about organ donation and asking them to consider making the choice to donate on behalf of someone they loved who is no longer able to make that decision. Or, in the blessed instance when someone did choose organ donation before his or her death, I will be supporting their families as they honor and sometimes adjust to the wishes of their people. My heart feels full at the prospect of doing this work. What an incredible honor.

Years ago when I worked in Placement, aka the organ allocation department, my shift started at 7a or 7p. For the morning shifts I'd wake up at 5:30, hurriedly get ready and get on the road, driving east from San Francisco towards downtown Oakland. Often I'd be on the lower span of the Bay Bridge as the sun was rising. The world felt silent and I was alone in my car, in a space between selves, on my way to a job that often took all of me. Those sunrises were gifts the world gave me to say Yes, my dear. Keep going this way.
.
Tuesday was my first day at the new job. Wednesday was an all-staff meeting--they hold two a year. The last one I attended was February 2014, fresh from maternity leave, newly hired into the project management job and already pregnant again though I wasn't telling anyone yet. Because good grief woman, didn't you just have some babies??

The meeting this week was fun and energetic and a great way to come back--seeing lots of people all at once, getting and giving hugs, feeling at once at home and outside. I watched as people received their 5 Years of Service awards, their 10 Years. I remembered when they were hired. Now I'm at. . .my first year of service again, though it's really my twelfth, with a one year break. I'm new but I'm old. I was a boss but now I"m not. I was 25 when I first got hired; I'm 39 getting hired for the second time. I've lived a lot of life in between and most of those years, most of that life, has been spent making organ donation happen in some capacity, at some level. I'm good at it. I love it. It's what I do. I've missed it. I've missed the me I was. I am so glad to get to be a part of the work again. I might not get to be the me I was, not in the same way, ever again.

During a break at the meeting I got into conversation with another woman new to the organization, new to my new team. She described herself as having been a stay at home mom and said "not like you." Wait a second. That's the first time anyone has said that to me. Did my identity change that quickly? I mean, it was just last week I was spending most of my waking hours, and actually all of my sleeping ones, side by side with these children. I know it was just conversation, not judgement, but it made my head spin a little.

On Tuesday and Wednesday of this week I drove home on 680, heading north with the sky darkening, red tail lights holding me back from my kids. My heart full and sad and confused. This week I spent more time away from my kids than with them, for the first time ever except for the time I spent in the hospital last September. I didn't really miss them during the day but driving home I missed them so much, couldn't wait to get home to them,. . . and I felt so different. Alive in a different way than I've felt for a long time.

Why do we do what we do? Whether it is work or play or staying home to raise kids (which is both work and play and quite frankly a whole host of other things that make defining the experience damn freaking hard). Is it for the money? For the prestige? For the community? For the pleasure? For the challenge? For the learning opportunity? For the benefit of the kids? For the good of the family?

This work is the most human thing I've ever done--it brings me closer to what it means to be a person than anything else. Except for parenthood. They are both heavy and holy. So I'm going to do them both and see who I become.