I laugh at myself every time I consider the fact that we live in Diamond Bar.
It's not just that it's so suburban, or that we're living this totally boring family-focused life here. In my early twenties, I worked for a British curling iron operation. I worked for the heavily-scrutinized North American division, where under the guidance of an over-eager salesman-turned-CEO I drove to Diamond Bar from Westlake once a month to conduct sales meetings. It was one of those "many hats" situations wherein it mattered not that I was the marketing coordinator, I was convinced that the health of our business depended on my driving 120 miles round trip to deliver a sales presentation to a group of rowdy hairstylists each month. I was too young to question any of this then.
Anyhow, each month as my coworker and I made the long trek to Diamond I'd joke about having to travel to "Bumble F**k Egypt" for irrelevant meetings. To my mind, Diamond Bar was not a place to live, but a faraway place to endure and abandon quickly.
So we live here now. As an indirect consequence (sort of), I am also unemployed.
We relocated when I was 8 months pregnant, at my request.
We were living in Santa Monica, 9 blocks from the beach. I was working in Brentwood, a 15-minute drive from our apartment on surface streets! It was heavenly. But my husband, and the breadwinner, was making one hell of a commute to City of Industry every day to make it work. He'd leave the house at about 4:30am; he'd start the hour-long (without traffic) commute home no earlier than 8:00pm. I hardly saw him during the week.
As we were putting the finishing touches on the nursery in our 2-bedroom in Santa Monica, we both knew it was over. We were both worried that as soon as he went back to work, I'd feel like a single parent during the week. What we once thought was a pretty spacious place (for Santa Monica anyway) shrank around us, closing us in. The place was too small, and too damn expensive... and too far away from what might soon become our sole source of income. We had to move inland.
I'd have to quit my job when I returned from maternity leave, after all. I had been struggling with this. I hadn't been happy there for a good long while. And pregnancy changed my perspective about the work I was doing quite substantially. As I got bigger and bigger, the issues of the day seemed more and more trivial. I genuinely stopped caring about projects, deadlines, conference calls, emails and all of it.
Nonetheless, I was scared to quit. What else was I going to do? And what would we do for money once the state-sponsored maternity benefits ran out?
We determined that I'd quit that particular job. We didn't move all the way out here so that I would be doing the same commute my husband could no longer stand. We knew that ultimately I'd do something to bring in a little money while being the primary caregiver to our new teammate.
I found what I thought was a great fit. The gig was to manage production for a company that makes handmade fabric products and sells them online. Everyone, most of whom happened to be moms, worked remotely and the idea was to have a bunch of self-sufficient one-woman departments working in tandem. It was such a lovely idea but managing the reality was really difficult on the staff and for the owner. It was an amicable departure, but I was "let go" for the first time in my life.
I didn't care. Well, I did. My ego was certainly bruised. I struggled with "less than" thoughts and feelings for a couple of days. But a bigger part of me was so relieved. I was not happy in the position, and thus was not contributing to the best of my ability.
Since then I've been looking for a new job, but half-heartedly. My heart and head have been elsewhere. Two colleagues and I contemplated starting our own company. I've also been spending some quality time on myself. I challenged myself to practice Bikram yoga for 37.5 hours in one month. I've read several books. I went on a few hikes. I've made fried chicken and fried pork and all manner of southern fare - just for fun. I haven't been writing - but am taking corrective action on that now.
In these past several months, I have conclusively decided I don't want to be a marketer anymore. I don't want to use my talents or spend my time supporting another's idea, product or business. The afore-mentioned conversation entertained betwixt myself and two colleagues aside, I have lost interest in the creation of new products. And I've lost sight of the "white spaces" I used to see on every retail shelf...
You've got to love it, change it or leave it, right?
I already left it and have now determined I'll stay away. My husband and I together have decided I shall return to school in pursuit of a completely different career.
I have always been interested in language studies, and my mom has always encouraged me to consider becoming a Speech Language Therapist. After some careful thought and intense Google research, I've decided to go for it. To do so, one must first pursue a master's degree in Communicative Disorders. Finding a school with this master's program is not easy. Serendipitously, a school not 10 miles away from Diamond has a very reputable program. CSU Fullerton, here I come!
To get into the program, however, I must dedicate a bit of time to fulfilling prerequisites. I start next Monday, with the goal of actually applying to the Master's program in 2018. I'd like to graduate from the program no later than 2020. So we're on a 2-4 year plan.
In the next 2-4 years, I'll not only be pursuing a degree, I'll be popping out another kid. We want two kids. We don't want them to be too far apart in age, and I frankly want to get pregnancy over with.
So I've found myself in Diamond Bar, unemployed, planning my second pregnancy and going back to school. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine this is where I'd be at 32, but here I am. And I've never felt more like myself.
It's not just that it's so suburban, or that we're living this totally boring family-focused life here. In my early twenties, I worked for a British curling iron operation. I worked for the heavily-scrutinized North American division, where under the guidance of an over-eager salesman-turned-CEO I drove to Diamond Bar from Westlake once a month to conduct sales meetings. It was one of those "many hats" situations wherein it mattered not that I was the marketing coordinator, I was convinced that the health of our business depended on my driving 120 miles round trip to deliver a sales presentation to a group of rowdy hairstylists each month. I was too young to question any of this then.
Anyhow, each month as my coworker and I made the long trek to Diamond I'd joke about having to travel to "Bumble F**k Egypt" for irrelevant meetings. To my mind, Diamond Bar was not a place to live, but a faraway place to endure and abandon quickly.
So we live here now. As an indirect consequence (sort of), I am also unemployed.
We relocated when I was 8 months pregnant, at my request.
We were living in Santa Monica, 9 blocks from the beach. I was working in Brentwood, a 15-minute drive from our apartment on surface streets! It was heavenly. But my husband, and the breadwinner, was making one hell of a commute to City of Industry every day to make it work. He'd leave the house at about 4:30am; he'd start the hour-long (without traffic) commute home no earlier than 8:00pm. I hardly saw him during the week.
As we were putting the finishing touches on the nursery in our 2-bedroom in Santa Monica, we both knew it was over. We were both worried that as soon as he went back to work, I'd feel like a single parent during the week. What we once thought was a pretty spacious place (for Santa Monica anyway) shrank around us, closing us in. The place was too small, and too damn expensive... and too far away from what might soon become our sole source of income. We had to move inland.
I'd have to quit my job when I returned from maternity leave, after all. I had been struggling with this. I hadn't been happy there for a good long while. And pregnancy changed my perspective about the work I was doing quite substantially. As I got bigger and bigger, the issues of the day seemed more and more trivial. I genuinely stopped caring about projects, deadlines, conference calls, emails and all of it.
Nonetheless, I was scared to quit. What else was I going to do? And what would we do for money once the state-sponsored maternity benefits ran out?
We determined that I'd quit that particular job. We didn't move all the way out here so that I would be doing the same commute my husband could no longer stand. We knew that ultimately I'd do something to bring in a little money while being the primary caregiver to our new teammate.
I found what I thought was a great fit. The gig was to manage production for a company that makes handmade fabric products and sells them online. Everyone, most of whom happened to be moms, worked remotely and the idea was to have a bunch of self-sufficient one-woman departments working in tandem. It was such a lovely idea but managing the reality was really difficult on the staff and for the owner. It was an amicable departure, but I was "let go" for the first time in my life.
I didn't care. Well, I did. My ego was certainly bruised. I struggled with "less than" thoughts and feelings for a couple of days. But a bigger part of me was so relieved. I was not happy in the position, and thus was not contributing to the best of my ability.
Since then I've been looking for a new job, but half-heartedly. My heart and head have been elsewhere. Two colleagues and I contemplated starting our own company. I've also been spending some quality time on myself. I challenged myself to practice Bikram yoga for 37.5 hours in one month. I've read several books. I went on a few hikes. I've made fried chicken and fried pork and all manner of southern fare - just for fun. I haven't been writing - but am taking corrective action on that now.
In these past several months, I have conclusively decided I don't want to be a marketer anymore. I don't want to use my talents or spend my time supporting another's idea, product or business. The afore-mentioned conversation entertained betwixt myself and two colleagues aside, I have lost interest in the creation of new products. And I've lost sight of the "white spaces" I used to see on every retail shelf...
You've got to love it, change it or leave it, right?
I already left it and have now determined I'll stay away. My husband and I together have decided I shall return to school in pursuit of a completely different career.
I have always been interested in language studies, and my mom has always encouraged me to consider becoming a Speech Language Therapist. After some careful thought and intense Google research, I've decided to go for it. To do so, one must first pursue a master's degree in Communicative Disorders. Finding a school with this master's program is not easy. Serendipitously, a school not 10 miles away from Diamond has a very reputable program. CSU Fullerton, here I come!
To get into the program, however, I must dedicate a bit of time to fulfilling prerequisites. I start next Monday, with the goal of actually applying to the Master's program in 2018. I'd like to graduate from the program no later than 2020. So we're on a 2-4 year plan.
In the next 2-4 years, I'll not only be pursuing a degree, I'll be popping out another kid. We want two kids. We don't want them to be too far apart in age, and I frankly want to get pregnancy over with.
So I've found myself in Diamond Bar, unemployed, planning my second pregnancy and going back to school. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine this is where I'd be at 32, but here I am. And I've never felt more like myself.
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