“What do YOU do?”
I find it odd that “What do you do?” is one of the first questions we ask when we meet people. (I gather this is an American habit so I guess we=Americans in this scenario. I’m also guessing The Question was originally, “What do you do for a living?” since, if you really think about it, “What do you do?” is a weird thing to ask. Ya know what else is weird? Inserting a long, parenthetical statement at the very beginning of an essay. Onward.) I mean, it makes sense to pose The Question at work-related gatherings but it seems to have wormed its way into the first few minutes of any conversation with someone new.
Up until a little over a year ago, when I was employed, I at least had an easy answer to The Question, one that people seemed to like: “I own a women’s clothing and shoe shop in Newburyport.” Done.
When I first closed my shop (thereby ending my own job), there was a grace period when I could talk to people about closing the business and why I made that decision. When asked what I was going to do next I said something like, “I have some ideas but first I’m going to take some time off.” People seemed to think that was fine. “You always come up with something!” they said.
Now that it’s been over a year since I’ve been employed I have come to dread The Question — I’ve even gone out of my way to avoid situations where I know it will repeatedly be asked (no speed-dating for me!). As much as I don’t think that people should be defined solely by their jobs, much of my own identity was clearly wrapped up in being the owner of a small retail business. Giving it up felt like losing a part of my personality.
I quickly filled all those hours with the other tasks; when you have a young child, a mother with a health issue, a husband, a house, and a dog, there is no shortage of projects. But even though I was constantly occupied, I still didn’t know what I was doing. When people posed The Question, I’d awkwardly ramble on and then end with a vague reference to “some ideas I’m pursuing.” I’m pretty sure I was getting some smiles and nods while people were really thinking, “Wow, she’s really letting it all go!”
With all due respect to the self-described SAHMs out there, I never considered “I’m at stay-at-home mom” as The Answer. Maybe it’s because I worked for the first three years of my daughter’s life, which is when women traditionally decide to be a SAHM. I also have some issues with the SAHM label — specifically, the “stay-at-home” part doesn’t work for me. I’d be more comfortable with something like “the running around like a maniac, trying to get everything done in the few hours that you are in school so we can spend after-school hours baking and crafting so you will remember me as a FUN mom and not one who was always stressed and talking about how I missed yoga AGAIN and –wait, how can we be out of wine?!” mom. I know — too long.
Most importantly, being a mother is only part of what I do. I am also a caregiver and advocate, a writer and editor, a household organizer and cleaner, a cook, and a whole lot of other things. (Holy poop-on-a-stick, I sound like I’m channeling Stuart Smalley!) And I’m also incredibly lucky that some days I find time to make soup (yesterday), write a blog post (today), or plant some flowers (it’s on the list).*
Depending on the day, my mood, and who’s asking, I now reply to The Question with a variety of answers — it can be anything from “I’m taking some writing classes,” to “Some days I just walk around my house and pick things up all day.” (I like to have one snarky option on hand.) It doesn’t really matter what I say because, in the words of Staurt Smalley, “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.”
Of course, he also said, “I’m gonna die homeless and penniless and twenty pounds overweight.” No! I will not go into a shame spiral!
*I’m not going to get into the reasons why it doesn’t make sense for me to get a “real job” at this point but, trust me, it doesn’t make sense.
You are Here.
Our first stop after landing in Austin last week was a Tex-Mex joint we remembered from our previous trip — food is a major part of our love of Austin, so why postpone the pleasure?
After that, we decided to visit Zilker Park so Caralena could run around. We hopped in the (giant, size of a studio apartment in NYC) truck — it was the only “car” available after a little mix-up at the airport. David was fiddling with his iphone to get his fancy, talking GPS app running when I told him that we didn’t need it — I remembered the route to Zilker, or at least the general direction, from two years prior.
“Okay,” he said. “Which way?” The truck was not moving.
“Back to Cesar Chavez, towards downtown,” I said.
“Okay, which way is that?” he asked.
Granted, we had just arrived in Austin. But I could have told David to drive straight, right, left, or in reverse and he wouldn’t have thought twice. This was when it struck me that David — who is a CEO and a computer programmer and who pretty much can master anything he puts his mind to, from gardening to chess to whatever else he picks — has ZERO sense of direction.
This isn’t a pick-on-the-David post; I have seen it many times. Last year, when we visited David’s sister in PA, David was driving while his sister directed us to a pizza place in the next town. After dinner, we got back in the car, and David asked which way he should turn out of the parking lot.
I was shocked! How could you not know which way you had driven down a road a half hour previously? How could you not know whether you turned right or left to get into a parking lot? I’m fairly certain I could have navigated us all the way back to their house, down rural back roads, through corn fields. But when I expressed my surprise, David’s sister laughed and said that she is the exact same way when it comes to a total lack of sense of direction — and she is a smartie, too!
Clearly, a sense of direction has nothing to do with intelligence and it’s not something you learn; you either have it or you don’t. As a quick test, answer the following question to yourself, without thinking for more than three seconds: What direction are you facing right now? (I am facing south. That took me 1.5 seconds.) Now try this one: Point in the direction of your nearest post office, the one you visit. Was that easy or difficult?
In and of itself, this isn’t all that interesting; some people can roll their tongues and others can’t, but who really cares? It becomes compelling to me, though, when I think how this relates to how people envision space differently. I was very aware, when we were in Austin, of where I was not just within the city, but where we were on a map of the United States. And no matter where I travel, I constantly update this visual picture in my mind, of where I am in relation to other points, and where I am in relation to where I usually am, in the northeast.
The one time I got tripped up was when we were in CA last year. The confusion stemmed from the fact that, living on the East Coast, I am programmed to think that if the ocean is on your left, you are headed south. Obviously, this rule did not work in CA, and I remember a couple times where I had a second or two of a vertigo-like feeling, as my internal GPS re-configured itself.
So, when it comes to your sense of direction are you a Lise or a David? Is it part of my OCD that I always know in which direction I am facing? Perhaps. But I can’t imagine walking or driving around without a bigger picture in my mind, of where I am. For better or worse, I guess I am like my own little GPS.
