Aimee Mann has gone on to become one of the most influential lyricists and singer-songwriters in my life. Every lyric of hers always resonates with me in some way and I can find a way to identify with it (usually metaphorically and figuratively). I’ve gone on to enjoy the albums that came before and the albums that came after, but the Magnolia soundtrack holds a special place in my heart for how raw and honest the music is.
His laws once broken, His justice and the very nature of those laws bring the immutable retribution; but if we turn penitently to Him, He enables us to bear our punishment with a meek and docile heart, ‘for His mercy endureth forever.’ ―Elizabeth Gaskell
I’m an editor with 14 years of experience. (FOURTEEN YEARS? WOW. Where did the time go?) Because of my “expertise,” I’ve been asked to give presentations at work about the importance of editing and why project managers at my ad agency should use it. (Utilize? haha) I put expertise in quotation marks because I don’t feel like I’m much of an expert with less than 20 years of experience. But even with 20 years of experience, I still think I’d feel like a novice.
I try to tell myself that I’m qualified to speak on editing in medicine and pharma. I’ve been copy editing since 2004. I’m good, right? I’ve worked in the ad industry for 10 years. I successfully freelanced for the majority of that time.
But I still struggle with the idea of what makes me qualified to speak on editing. What do I bring to the table that no one else does? And I can’t figure that out. Maybe it’s my experience in pharma? My experience in marketing & advertising?
I’m scared of failure. I’m scared of someone saying,”That doesn’t make sense at all. Do you really know what you’re talking about?” I’ve been told I’m a good presenter, but I loathe it because I think I’m never good enough. (I could’ve said this differently or I could’ve done that differently.) I always reflect on the things that went wrong rather than the things that went right. I’m SUPER aware of my flaws (uh, um, ah, well) and maybe have a poor read on the audience’s reaction. (Although I don’t think I do. They tend to look otherwise occupied or bored.)
All I want to do is make myself proud. Feel content with where I am professionally. And I don’t know that I ever will.
A prayer. I pray that my husband and I would be able to afford a home within the next 3 years. To stay in the school district where we are now. To have a home that will allow us to expand (add an in-law suite). And one that would not be visited by bugs (especially large ones) all the time. (Occasional like here?)
A home where my son can make neighborhood friends. Where my husband and I can plant roots. Where we can host community groups and fellowship and birthday parties.
Because we can get specific with requests, here’s mine: central air, the opportunity to finish a basement, some backyard space, at least two floors, remodeled kitchen, at least three bedrooms and the room to build an in-law suite, a single home (not duplex or townhome), no association fees, and one that we can grow into. Oh, and driveway and garage where we can have storage space.
I’m throwing this out there because even though this seems impossible for us, nothing is too impossible for you, God. You can make it happen. Of course, you don’t have to but I believe you can. Within the next 3 years would be great.
And while you’re at it, can I have a second kid too? Thanks for all that you do, have done, and will do.
My son is in Pre-K. He is almost 5. Where did the time go?
I suffered from postpartum depression for a year and a half after his birth. I essentially missed out on the first 2 years of his life. They were spent with me crying, worrying, scared, petrified, paranoid, anxious, and depressed.
Looking back, I guess my glasses are now rose colored. I look at pictures from when he was a teeny tiny 4-pounder and now realize how adorable he was. And wish I could’ve appreciated him more. (And wish he would’ve cuddled more apart from sickness and sleep.) And wish I could go back in time and love him the way I ought without PPD or mental illness getting in my way.
This time next year, he’ll be out of daycare in Kindergarten. I think I’ll be beside myself. Heaven knows what I will do. Other than be grateful.