resume

I've lead an eclectic, esoteric, mercurial journey through life and as I reach my reflective midlife, sometimes I wish my life-resume showed a little more... direction. Meandering is just another way of not planning.

And then sometimes, I look over everything I've experienced in my late-blooming adulthood--speed reading teacher, mariachi band, poetess, martial artist, self-defense instructor, youth organizer, crafter/artisan, ballroom dancer, teacher sometime write of poetry and prosery, procrastinator, anthropologist (all the former while being in a doctoral program and being a terrible student, obviously), CBO researcher/info activist, trainer, facilitator, interviewer, popular educator, screenwriter & production designer, midwifery student, doula, gala planner, blogger, itinerant CSA heritage pork dealer, homesteader, priestess, bellydancer, mother ( I actually became a goddess but folks have issue with honoring the sacred feminine...), working mother, finance director, communicator, campaign researcher, union elected, negotiator--and I have enjoyed the journey, friends gained and the myriad life lessons earned, even those steeped in sorrow and inscribed in ink.

While I'll always wish I made more of the opportunities (should have traveled more, should have found a new Wing Chun dojo), I'll never wish that I made less.

Is it just the third decade that thinned out my creativity or is it birthing myself as mother? Working mother is another way of being absent for the hours that matter most to my daughter.

As I prepare to embark on a sabbatical, I anticipate the prospect of being without boundaries and a safe job to define myself and my time.  I am trepidatious.  I want to make the best of this breathing period. I want to find my calling, pursue my dreams and passion. I want to be a mother whose absences do not define the week.