Lately, I’ve been weighing an offer from a client to become a full-time employee. While incredibly flattering, the offer would be a significant change in lifestyle. In the end, that may be what matters.
First, I should say that the client is absolutely fantastic and I completely enjoy working with them. It’s nice to have colleagues again and if there is ever a group that would get me off the semi-retirement bench, it’s them. But… . Well, the cost here would be significant and I’m not sure I’m prepared – nor is my little family prepared – for the cost.
Right now, I have approximately 24 hours a week to take care of the home fires. I likely need at least that amount. (Okay, maybe we could survive on one less eight-hour shift once we finish the deck but I was hoping to dedicate that time to improved fitness.) Still, my role here is clear: smooth the path. Take today. My husband asked me if I had ordered flea meds for the cats. I replied that there was a full-box in the kitty drawer. Then, I went online and ordered another set of meds since he was using our last supply.
It’s not much but it’s what I do. In the past two years as we have been finishing renovations, I’ve been on a one-woman mission: everything has a home and everything is in its home. That way, I know when we’re close to running out of something, if something is broken and needs replaced or repaired or if something is missing. We don’t search for anything anymore. The change in our lives? We went from daily mini-crisis mode to full-on life management. It’s subtle but it matters.
There are obvious benefits, of course, to going back to work. Having access to a different set of employer benefits could be beneficial for us. Further too would be the 401K match. Most of all, it would be certainty in uncertain times. The economy is getting soft and the job market is even softer. For consultants, it will be an even tougher row to hoe.
And yet… well, again, there are serious benefits to having enough time. My husband is eating a deli turkey sandwich on the fresh sourdough bread I picked up this morning at the Farmer’s Market. The yard is neatly mowed, allowing us to spend our weekend taking care of our garden and to digging the holes for the piers of the deck. One load of laundry is on the line, the next is in the washer. The beets I picked up at the market are cleaned, cooked and peeled for salads for dinner, the beds are made, the dishes are done and the house is quiet and calm. And all of that happens because I have an extra 24 hours in a week. I give that up and I may just give away the little sanity we’ve carved out for ourselves. (And while I love my hubby and he promises that we would split up the work more evenly, the fact is that he already works a little more than full-time and has a slightly higher tolerance for chaos than I do.)
So, if you haven’t read between the lines, I’m already leaning heavily towards no, but I’d strongly consider a part-time offer, even if it were more hours. But if I do say no, the big gamble here is that I will keep finding small contracts to subsist on. Otherwise, I’m risking have no work – and no income – vs. plenty of work and roughly the same income I have now. And if you ever wondered, I’m no one’s idea of a gambler.
For anyone who truly knows me, you know the deal. I’ve got spreadsheets with pros and cons. But the biggest factor causing me to lean no? My own personal sense of self.
At this point in my life, I’m just not there anymore. I don’t want to be anyone’s employee and I’m proud of my little microbusiness. I also don’t want to go back to that just-in-time management of our life that had us careening from one mini-crisis to the next. I want time to enjoy coffee on our new back deck in the morning and time to actually read a book, something I haven’t done for ages. I want time and the steady routine of life to allow me to get into shape. Finally, for the past 5-6 years, I’ve been wondering what life would be like when it was finally slow enough for us to be real humans. As we are literally standing on the edge of the pool in our bathing suits ready to jump in, it feels like someone is yelling, “Wait! Wait! Wait!” and we are both surprised and looking behind us. I can’t do that. I don’t want to do that. And I’m not sure I even have the capacity to do that anymore.
The Yuppie Homesteader 