The ghosts of work-life past

I’ve had some close encounters of the working kind in the past week. Remarkably, since I left my job, I’ve had little to do with my former coworkers. It’s not out of spite or anything. (Although I’m sure they wouldn’t appreciate me calling them at 1 pm while they’re at their computers and I’ve just finished watching an episode of Top Chef).  It’s just that I’m being lazy about the whole “networking to get back in the workforce someday thing” and I have no urge to really know what I left behind me.  I wish I could say that I miss work, but I don’t, actually. So while I like to hear from my old friends, I don’t have that morbid curiosity about me wondering, “are they getting by without me?” Because I’m sure they are.

However, in the last week, I’ve gotten some pokes from my former colleagues and work associates.  My old team took me out to a very nice “going away” afternoon tea where I gorged myself on scrumptuous handmade scones and shrimp sandwiches until my stomach hurt. (Cut me some slack. Most of my lunches these days consist of french fries and an occasional crust of grilled cheese.)  My colleague even asked me before our get together if I was excited to bust out some of my old corporate wardrobe again. Like I all I wear are Uggs and leggings all day every day. Please.  It was actually somewhat entertaining to put on a shirt that buttons, pants that aren’t made of denim and have somewhere to be with adults at 3 pm, but by 5 o’clock, I was relieved to go home, take off my thong underwear (I have little problem with panty lines while I’m at home) and slip on my momiform.

I mean, after we discussed gossiped about all our old clients, what was I supposed to talk about? My “blog” which is so “cute?” My son, who’s growing up faster than I care to believe? My coworkers are childless and I’m not sure they were that interested in the latest potty training techniques. Plus, it’s not like I’ve been very good at keeping up with marketplace trends; I’ve let my “work” magazine subscriptions all but completely lapse in the three months since I stepped out the door.

This lack of interest in the working world wasn’t just obvious over Darjeeling and jam. I’ve had other work-related avoidances as well.  For example, I turned down a good freelancing opportunity last week. I blew off a former colleague who wanted me to speak to his class. I’m even bailing on a “how to be a better freelancer” seminar this week that I’m supposed to go to with my new friend and learn how to market myself better.  Freelancing lesson #1: don’t bail on popular blog friend for night at home. (Truth be told I am staying at home to prepare for a vacation later this week, but my former gunner self wouldn’t let a silly thing like vacation get in the way of some good networking.)

I’m sure somewhere out there Leslie Bennetts is signing Hail Marys praying for my working mom salvation. I’m a serious ”keeping myself in the mix” flunkie. I’m a career-path dropout.  Hell, I’m not keeping that “key contacts” roster alive. You know, the one I’m supposed to keep so that if in six months I’m going ballistic with a temper-tantrum-throwing-toddler and I want to go back to work it will be seamless.  On paper, I’m setting myself up for complete failure. But I’m keeping hope alive that the way everyone else judges what moms do when they stop working will somehow change if and when I decide to ever be a “working” mom again.

That just being me doing what I want to do when I want to do it will be enough. I’m not giving into the career Grim Reaper yet.