The other day, after two bites of one of the best salads in the world (thanks to recipe by cousin LBW), I was ready to share with the world of facebook the beauty of raisins and apples becoming friends in a green salad with a homemade poppyseed dressing. The walnuts joined and we had a party. Oh, how I love lunch when I don’t have to pack it in a box or a bag.
I realized, however, that the salad party I enjoyed might not be such exciting news to those who have not already hidden me in their facebook feed. After all, they might be stuck with a cold turkey sandwich with no mayo because it would make the bread soggy. Sorry if that’s your luck. Later in the day I had success with a cleaning goal and once again, I practiced restraint in posting the big news. Then I had a thought (like I usually do): Why in the world do I feel the need to give a step-by-step report of my day when I stay home? Rarely do I have the urge to give a status update from work, unless it’s at the expense of a candidate who gives a detailed account of the reason he was fired from a previous position.
I decided my hour-by-hour news stems from a liking of the idea of accountability. As a youth director, no less than 300 people made sure that I did my job correctly (ie, the way they wanted it done). At my current job I have several eyes upon me, from my PT manager and my account manager to the IT woman in the next cube who hates that I talk so loud. People care about how I spend my time.
So while at home, I have a tendency to think the same thing. If I’m not working, then someone wants to know how I spent my time, right? There has to be a Young & the Restless And BonBon Eating Police making sure that if I declare I’m home to take care of my children that they’re not running amok in the streets or strapped into their cribs. And because I rarely talk to anyone other than my sister and my mother, or the nurses who are in charge of reminding me of doctors appointments, FB seems to be the only other captive audience.
At times I worry that these accountability updates might be seen as a braggy attempt on my part, but I assure you it’s not. Much like the popular girl with no self-esteem, my status only tries to justify how I’m spending my time, finding worth in it. I may have opted out of opportunities to be functional in the corporate world, but I still retain value to my home world – even if only my children & husband’s reap direct benefit.
If I wanted to get all Freudian with you (which, clearly I’m about to do, or I wouldn’t bring it up), I’d say that it appears that I’m facing symptoms of an underlying doubt in my decision on how I spend my days. Even though I can tell myself all the positives and I can hear from others how lucky I am, the You’re Worthless Demon likes to whisper in my ear that homemade food and a regular nap schedule isn’t worthwhile. But I tell him, a fulfilled life isn’t calculated by the dollars you earn or the fancy pants you wear but the moments you enjoy. I enjoyed my time at work and now I get to taste a new flavor of savoring life at home. It’s like opting for sherbet instead of ice cream. Both are valid and tasty forms of frozen dessert goodness.
Perhaps I should report to FB that we’re going to the Dairy Queen….