New Year's Resolution

It is very hard for “fifty-something” women to find meaningful, career-oriented work.  You know who you are:  the beautiful gals who served their best years as soldiers on the front lines of the family.    For every male acquaintance of the same age turning over yet another anniversary at an office where he is revered, I know at least one highly-educated, well-qualified woman who is dying to get the smell of fabric softener off her hands, put on make-up and panty hose, and take on challenging adventures that do not involve groceries, dry-cleaning, or after-school activities.

No one wants to hire a re-entry mom.  This is not a null hypothesis I aim to prove; it is a fact.  I’ve been on dozens of interviews for staff writer jobs in the last two years in which my age, my decade-long absence from the tangible workplace, and my real motivations for seeking employment are subtly, yet just-this-side-of-legally, noted and logged.  (One woman politely asked, “Do you need to work, or just want to work?”)  I understand that the twenty-something journalism graduate can be had for an annual salary just slightly less than my last corporate bonus check.   I acknowledge that a male two decades my junior might find it awkward to supervise someone old enough to be his mother.  And yes, it is unlikely that I’d last more than a week or so in newbie submission mode before my know-how and my penchant for using it got the better of me.  I have skills, man, and I know how to use them!

I call myself a technical writer.  This does not mean that I write manuals and specifications (although I’ve done my share of both).  I have spent more time in recent years writing for others about what they think and do rather than about my own thoughts or interests.  People hire me to “package” what they do in order to make it appealing to those who need to know.  What this means is that I drain my creative energies making my clients look good while that novel idea for a novel sits in a file on my computer gathering cyber-dust.  I am in awe of certain college classmates who made good their threats to write the “Great American Novel”.  By contrast, I seem to be plagued with a southern form of literary PMS—I am forever “fixin’ to start”.

Rather than declare myself a failure across the complete writing spectrum—failing to capture even the most mundane staff writing job and finding myself one novel short of a novelist--I’ve decided to change my own premise.  If a writer is someone who writes, then I will write.  Here.  Every day.  For a full 366 days.  I vow today to fulfill this commitment.

What will I write about?  I can’t promise deep philosophical thoughts.  Nor do I aspire to solve the mysteries of the universe.  Or the Republican ticket.  My only commitment is that I will write and write honestly from my point of view as a woman, a wife, a mother, and an over-educated, unemployed pain in the ass.  I hope some of you will follow my journey if you find it fun to do so. 

In my fifty-three years I’ve made lots of New Year’s resolutions.  Perhaps 40 or so have been about losing weight (perhaps a topic for another day), and the rest have been about making personal changes.  I heard a story on NPR today (Radio Lab) that explored the reasons people have so much difficulty implementing resolutions.  One woman quit smoking by promising that if her family ever caught her smoking again she would donate $5000 to the Ku Klux Klan.  An author, who had long procrastinated on a novel contract, gave himself 15 days to complete his book or he promised to commit suicide.  

For me, I am going on the record.  But just in case this is like the tree that falls in the forest and no one gives a damn, I am giving the link to this blog to my college-aged children.  I want them to see the importance of living by your convictions, maintaining personal integrity, and honoring your commitments.  As in most things in a mother’s life, we will always do for our kids that which we would forego for ourselves. 

Happy and healthy 2012.