Waiting to escape part one.

In a way, I feel like the Israelites at the first Passover. Waiting, eagerly, to run at a moment’s notice to escape Egypt. “Egypt” means slavery and oppression. “Egypt” means not living live as we are meant to – as I’m meant to.

I’ve been shoehorning my life for a while now. My job no longer fits with my ideals. Buddha talked about “right livelihood” – where your jobs needs to line up with your values. It isn’t that the library is bad. It is just that it isn’t enough.

I am adverse to starting a “small business” and striking out on my own. Too often this means simply striking out. I don’t want to feel like I have to spend more time selling my “product” more than I spend creating it. My art isn’t my job. Maybe that is the problem though. Maybe the fact that I create and then go to a “real” job is proof I have time to do both.

I’m averse to doing all the taxes and paperwork required to run a small business. I want to get paid t create, to host Circles, to heal in many ways. I want to write, paint, collage, bead, and drum. I want to show others how to do the same. I want to facilitate weddings, funerals, and other religious ceremonies for those who have been turned out of or off of church. I want to have a place to do all of this that isn’t my home.

The biggest point is that I’m afraid to go out on my own because I need health insurance.

I need to remember that just because the Israelites became free, their lives didn’t become easy. 40 years of wandering in the desert isn’t ideal. Many people died. But they also always had enough to eat and drink, and their shoes never wore out. So maybe freedom isn’t what I think it should be.

I used to love working at the library, but that love has faded. I feel that my talents are being wasted. More importantly, I feel that my life is being wasted. I can’t stand thinking about 13 more years of 40 hour weeks until I can retire. I’ll be 59. My Mom died at 53. My Dad died at 60. Neither were able to retire. I’d hate to think that I’d spent my most healthy years at a place only half alive, biding my time. I resent the time my job takes from me. 40 hours a week is too much time away from my husband and friends. Too much time not creating and sharing and teaching.

My job is rather predictable and boring. In a way, the familiarity is comforting. In a way, it is smothering. I’m grateful to have a job that is regular and simple at times. I’m grateful to have a regular paycheck too. But right now, the only thing that keeps me going is days off, because then I get to do what I want to do.

I’d love to work in such a way that I don’t have to have a “second” job of living my “real” life. I’d love if my “first” job was more in line with my dreams and creative life. I’d love if I got paid to have circles where people could learn how to communicate better, or I could facilitate new ways of communication, where people could connect with art or music.