To Do What I Care About

I don’t care about that. That’s something my Katie says when she doesn’t want to do something – I don’t care about that.

I’ve been feeling that way a lot myself lately. Mostly about work. There’s a Regional Leadership Training next March that needs to be planned? I don’t care about that. There are leadership applications that need to be processed? I don’t care about that. There are association management software vendor demos to be attended? I (really) don’t care about that.

It’s difficult spending eight hours a day doing things you just don’t care about, especially when there are so many other things you do care about that are not getting done at all.

The thing is, I have a great job. I work with people I really like. I get paid well and have great benefits. I’m appreciated and admired by fellow staff and the volunteers I work with. And I used to enjoy the work itself. I like finding speakers and drafting brochures and streamlining processes. Or I did. But lately, I have not been enjoying it at all.

It started in late March, just a week or two after the conclusion of our highly successful Leadership Education Conference. I worked really hard planning and preparing for that conference for a year and a half, and onsite I worked even harder. I came home exhausted and happy. It went well, it exceeded my expectations. We came back to the office and compiled the event evaluation information and confirmed that the weekend was a smashing success. Our numbers were higher across the board – especially in programming, which was what I cared about most.

But then came the springtime lull. It happens every year. Things slow down to an excruciatingly dull pace for a couple of months. I have hardly anything to do. Which gives me a lot of time to think. And think. And think. I think about my life and my children and all the things I want to work on and improve. I think about the ways I want to be involved in my children’s lives. I think about how I want to get my house organized. I think about the life I’d really like to have – Josh and I both work from home, him drawing and me writing, and we work together to take care of the kids, get them to and from school, volunteer in their classrooms, go on field trips. And we have time to work with Charlie individually and help him progress. And I don’t have to go back to work when my baby is only six or seven weeks old. And Josh and I make dinner together and our family works on chores together. And our household runs smoothly.

I understand that is a fantasy. But it doesn’t make me want it less.

And while I think about all the things I want to be doing, and I think about how my family needs me to be at home, I also think about how pointless everything I do at work is. Yes, the conference was a huge success. So? I mean, it made me look good here, helped me get a raise, blah, blah, blah. But what good did it do anyone else? Was the conference some huge, important, life-changing event? Does the work itself really matter? Is it of any lasting importance? No, it’s not. Meanwhile, the work of eternity is going on in a six-room house in Fair Oaks, California without me. And that’s what I want to be involved in – the work of eternity, the work of God.

Last night, we attended my nephew’s eighth grade graduation at which they presented a slide show of the kids’ school experiences starting in Kindergarten. Sitting there, I saw pictures of all the things I have missed out on – Harvest Festivals, May Day Festivals, the Pentathlon, working on school plays, field trips. And I looked over at Alek. In just a few years, we’ll be attending his eighth grade graduation. And I don’t want to watch a slide show of his years and know that I was never a part of anything he did at school. I told him how bad I felt that I had missed all these things he’d done and he assured me it was okay. And maybe it is for him, but it’s not for me. I didn’t have children so I could miss out on their lives, on their childhoods. I want to be there.

I feel guilty about how little I care about work and my lack of gratitude. I have a great job in a terrible economy. My family is greatly blessed by my employment. It puts a roof over our heads, food on our table, clothes on our backs, gas in our cars. It pays for the field trips that I can’t chaperone. It gives Josh the opportunity to work on his craft and get his career off the ground. And it makes it possible for Josh to stay home so that at least my kids have one parent who can be there at all the crossroads of their lives.

So maybe I am selfish. Maybe it’s selfishness that is making me so cranky about being here when I want to be at home. Maybe it is all about what I want, rather than what my family needs from me. Maybe they don’t need me to be at home. The kids are happy and healthy. Things are fine. They’re good, even. But I’d like to believe they would be better if I were around. And even if it is selfishness, I know that I at least would be happier. Because being there for them – that’s what I care about.