My youngest is pre-school age, and in the fall, I’m likely to have some time to myself for the first time in 13 years. I’ve been considering some ways I might pick up some freelance of part-time/at home work, just to make some extra pocket money. Teach piano lessons? Start a neighborhood pre-school? Do some more serious writing? Contract at my old job? All seem like lovely ideas to expand my mind and broaden my possibilities.

I’ll be perfectly honest, and please don’t trample on my delicate offerings.

I’m terrified.

I’m not sure what I’m afraid of, exactly, but I do know this. In the last decade, part of me has disappeared. In the mid-90’s, I had a secretary, I traveled all over the place, I walked with confidence, and spoke with authority (probably even arrogance). I negotiated contracts, wore power suits, and once even scolded Julio Eglasias.

Now, I’m a big fat mushy pile of warm and melting jello. I don’t know who that person was all those years ago. I don’t know how to find her. I don’t really want all of her back. I don’t want the office or the meetings; the pressure and the travel schedule.

But I would like to do something. Something!

I’m just so afraid I’ll blow it. Am I capable of all those things anymore? Has my mind been forever muddled by Big Bird and Pampers? Should I just be content to ramble on a blog that has to take me because I’m free? Maybe I’ll just take up Sudoku.

I’m looking for ways to gird up my loins, to square my shoulders, to jump back in the saddle, to ply myself into any one of a number of appropriate trite phrases.

I’ve become a willow, and I’d like some of the old oak back.

Related posts:

1. Popcorn Friends
2. Tethered
3. an unguest post