The Three Year Itch

So, a little over three years ago, when I was leaving my last job, a good friend and colleague joked that it was about time for me to be moving along anyway, since I'd been at that job about three years. He was joking, but the reality is that it's true. Here's a rough sketch of my résumé post law school:

First Federal Clerkship - 2 years

Law Firm - 3 years 5 months

First Federal Agency - 2 years 6 months

Second Federal Clerkship - 3 years 3 months

Second Federal Agency - 3 years 5 months and counting

So, you see, I'm in immediate peril of exceeding my longest stint of legal employment. And I will admit to feeling antsy.

A rolling stone gathers no moss, after all.

I do wonder why I am not able to commit to a job long term. I had no problem committing to The Working Dad. (But he's perfect . . . for me, anyway.)

Maybe I've not found the perfect job yet. But in an environment when legal jobs are scarce, maybe I don't need perfect. No, I definitely don't. I need a good job that's flexible enough for a mom of a toddler.

And I've got that.

But that doesn't mean I'm completely satisfied.

And, there are lots of things I like about my job -- the people are nice, there are intellectual challenges, no billable hours or expected overtime, it's pretty secure (but for possible sequestration) -- but not everything.

It is also a highly stressful and demanding job. Often, things happen at the last minute on an "emergency" (to someone else) basis. There are more deadlines than a person should reasonably be expected to keep track of, and they're all short. Opposing counsel can be difficult. And the judges can too.

Essentially, these are the problems with every job in my particular practice area. So I know that getting another law job --short of going in-house (which has its own problems) -- would not solve those problems.

So, essentially, I don't love being a lawyer. I like it okay, but it's not my dream job or life's true calling (despite the fact that, when I was 12, I said I wanted to be a Supreme Court Justice like Sandra Day O'Connor). There are too-many-to-count lawyers like me, who like it okay, but feel like they sort of missed the mark on personal fulfillment in the job department.

What's a 42 year old wife and mother to do, then? I can't chuck the career, nearly 15 years in. I mean, I could, if it were just me, but it's not just me. My husband depends on me, and my son's college fund and general way of life also depend on my income.

Still, I do think a lot about people who set off on a different path. My dance teacher who left a big accounting firm to open a dance studio . . . A sorority sister who opened her own cupcake bakery . . . A law school friend who started his own test prep business . . . And several of my colleagues who have started their own solo practices.

They all struck out on their own, without a net, and did something. But I need the safety net that my job provides right now. I'm afraid of the high wire. And I couldn't do that to The Working Dad, take a leap and make him be the safety net.

Anyway, I don't know what I would leap into. Other than writing, I'm not sure I am good at much else in a marketable way. And I'm not even sure my writing is all that marketable. Fine for a blog, but professional diarist? The idea of joining the droves of memoirists these days sort of leaves me cold. (And as an aside, didn't it used to be the case that only old, famous people did memoirs? Now, it seems like every hipster is writing her own me-novel about her not-so-unique journey to age twenty-five.)

And fiction? Well, maybe, but it's a whole different voice and style.... I've never liked the short story form. And who has the time for a novel, a baby, and a demanding full-time job?

If I did change careers, I think doing something in ornithology would be fun.  (Bird Nerd.)  But the outlay of time and money reasonably required to become an ornithologist at age 42 is prohibitive for all of the above reasons.

So I guess, for now, I just press on past 3 years 5 months and beat my professional life longevity record. It's not so bad.  I'm just restless.  And, in four years, I will achieve Federal employee annual-leave-nirvana when I start earning eight hours of leave a pay period.

I'm even cognizant that this -- we'll call it professional ambivalance -- may spring from the fact that I haven't had an actual vacation since August 2009. (And, no, I don't consider the eleven weeks of maternity leave in 2011 to have been "vacation."  Ditto that regarding the marathon that is the holiday season . . . .) I have not been able to build back leave in the two years since The Boy was born (because of illness mainly, and other parenting reasons). So no leave equals, no vacation, equals a very worn out worker. That could be it, but I know it's not only it.

Anyway, I'm not getting my résumé together this time. I have at least learned that changing jobs isn't going to fix the fundamental problem. I'm as happy as I could be in any law job, I think. But there's got to be a way to be professionally satisfied, less restless. I wish I could figure it out.

Meanwhile, this rolling stone will, um, you know, get her nose back to the grindstone and . . . ugh, the metaphors!  Maybe just a glass of wine, dinner and pulpy TV, and I'll be like Scarlet O'Hara and think about it tomorrow.