It's one week into my transition from radio broadcaster to unemployed former radio broadcaster, and some things feel right and some feel just plain weird.
Under "right": This house. I continue to marvel at how it already, and so soon, feels like my home. Sure, there's a lot of stuff that is still in boxes -- making me wonder if it is really that vital to my existence if I'm not missing it -- and very few things have found their proper place yet. But I feel comfortable and comforted in this place. It fits me like an old shoe.
Also filed under "right" is unstructured, lengthy time with my husband. In the 13 years we've been married, we've never had that. For the first 12, he worked weekends at 1010 WINS while I worked weekdays. For the last one, he did not, having quit his radio gig, but it didn't matter, the pattern was already well-established. We still spent weekends mostly apart, as I had grown into the habit of filling Saturdays and Sundays with chores, shopping, tennis lessons and other to-ing and fro-ing. There were plenty of fights over what this was doing to our marriage and into-the-wee-hours conversations about how we felt emotionally estranged from one another's lives. This new time together, with few constraints and outside demands, feels like a balm, a blessing, a restoration.
And the things that feel weird? Not having such a schedule and pattern, not having the to-ing and fro-ing from work to home to the store to home again. Not having a job to provide the outline of my day. I don't know when to wake up (how novel to think that it could be when I've had enough rest). I am not sure what I'm supposed to be doing. There are plenty of projects to tackle, from unpacking those last 9 boxes, to researching the radio stations here for possible freelance work, to writing and reading, those creative and emotional luxuries I told myself I could never afford. But I don't know how to prioritize them without the help of a job, which focused me because of the limits it put on my time and energy.
So, I'm feeling a little adrift, like the snow on the dull brown fields around my new hometown. For a Type A ex-New Yorker, that can set off more alarms than a fire in a documents warehouse. But I know from gardening, once upon a time, that snow makes the best fertilizer.
It's going to be a boffo spring 'round these parts, I know it.