At 57, I learned that I can only do jobs that I'm passionate about now. When I was younger, I would take any job that would allow me to grow.
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Recently, I decided to reenter the traditional workforce after 20 years at home with my daughters — after having been a teen mom earlier in my life. This brief detour steered me in a u-turn-like fashion away from my true passion.
Earlier this year, an opportunity popped up out of the blue. It was part-time, in my administrative wheelhouse, and it would pay $20 per hour. When I called my adult son to share the news, he said, "That's great, as long as it doesn't interfere with your writing."
For context, I left my last job as an executive assistant 21 years ago, where I made $53,000 annually. This included a generous benefits package and a beautiful office where lunch was brought in daily. It was one of the best jobs I've ever had, and I've had a lot of jobs.
My enterprising, people-pleasing spirit emerged in early childhood. By the time I was 13, I had parlayed cleaning skills learned from doing chores at home into extra jobs as a mother's helper. The neighborhood moms raved about me, and I craved their affirmation.
Now I see clearly that, by taking this new job which was unlike anything I've ever done, I was satisfying an unhealthy part of myself that still feels the need to prove something and quiet still-whispering voices from the past.
So, in one of the happiest phases of my life, which includes an empty nest, a happy 23-year marriage, three kids, and two out-of-state grandbabies, I'm thankful to be able to visit often, I went ahead and sabotaged myself.
I quickly realized the job wasn't what I thought it would be. I also realized that at 57, I'm no longer willing to do work I'm not genuinely interested in.
My passion is writing, and I've finally reached a point where I'm fortunate to be able to pursue it. In the past two years, I've taken classes and realized my dream of building a byline.
As a young divorced mom, I had two jobs. I did early morning surveillance for a PI firm investigating Workers' Compensation cases and then waitressed the 3 p.m. to 11 p.m. shift at the local coffee shop. Those were challenging times, and I was always searching for the next, better job.
My move up from waitressing came when one of my regulars, a very Mad Men-esque general contractor couple, offered me my first secretarial job. I'd hit the big time, making $8.50 an hour in the late 1980s.
In 1998, at 30 years old, I purchased my first home, thanks to one of those jobs of a lifetime that included a 401(k) plan. I was ultimately let go from that one. And in the way that the universe always has its plans, had I not been canned from that job, I wouldn't have met my husband.
When I was young and hungry (without a college degree), an instinct propelled me to tolerate less-than-ideal work environments because my choices were limited. The jobs have been amazing, eye-gouging, and everything in between — for example, I became a licensed nail technician in 1992 and learned that doing nails wasn't as fun or profitable as it looked.
In the early 2000s, a stay-at-home mom with two toddlers, I began looking for ways to reinvent myself. I started my own Mexican food catering company. My pièce de résistance was single-handedly catering a Cinco de Mayo party for a Philadelphia Eagles player. I learned that catering is exhausting.
An early adopter of social media and natural connector, I began tweeting and blogging about Kelly Ripa's Homemade Millionaire. Writing about and promoting fellow "Mompreneurs" led to work with a PR firm, which led to writing my first children's book, a first-of-its-kind social media guide, in 2014. I was 47. The book led to school assemblies and dozens of television appearances over several years. I also completed the manuscript for a young adult novel.
Now, I know I can only do things I am passionate about. So, on a Friday afternoon, I told my boss I wouldn't be continuing. When I called my son to tell him the job didn't work out he said, "From now on, passion projects only."
