I'm one of nearly 7 million Americans who have lost their jobs, so there are a lot of us who have been getting used to it. Many of us have been idled for months and have adjusted to this new reality.
I had been accustomed to a certain rhythm of life — arriving at the office by 7 a.m., writing a quick blog post, diving into the day's news budget, editing copy, laying out pages or supervising their layouts, talking to reporters, all leading to the mad rush toward the late morning deadline. Then there would be time to write editorials, plan news coverage, catch up with messages, attend meetings, discuss news with other editors or reporters, gliding toward a late-afternoon decision that I had done all I had to do that day, checking off items on my to-do list and knowing the other items could wait. I'd start over in the morning.
Despite not spending nine or 10 hours at the office, I've found ways to fill my day. Hunting for a job, especially in this economy, is time-consuming. One day last week, I spent an hour hunting the Internet for a job to apply to and then spent another two hours filling out the long, complicated application form. Did it do me any good? Doesn't look like it.
I'm also writing — for my own amusement if nothing else. I'm keeping house — cooking, grocery shopping, cleaning (hoping to meet my wife's standards, or at least come close) — and maintaining the yard, spreading the hot outdoor work across a couple of weekdays instead of piling it all into a Saturday. I'm volunteering with some nonprofit organizations, attending meetings, doing some legwork, writing or editing, doing some planning, driving here and there. All combined, it fills the day, but in a fluid, changeable way. Want to meet with me? I can offer any number of options almost any day of the week; most of my plans are quite flexible. I don't mind putting off mowing the grass or vacuuming the downstairs. And I can always find another hour to write.
In the first decade of our marriage, when I went to work every day and my wife stayed home with our preschool children, it seemed to me to be an excellent division of labor. She did what she truly enjoyed, nurturing the children, baking, indulging in a couple of creative hobbies, keeping the house in shape — all a part of expressing her love for our children and for me. And I went to work, often for long hours, including some nights and weekends, persuading myself that my children would, in the long run, understand my absence. Now our roles are reversed, and I am at home, but without the responsibilities of watching over young children, while she works the long hours to support both of us. I would never wish for this role — except jokingly when my wife first returned to the labor force — but I do not feel emasculated by it. I do not have to earn more than my wife to be a "real man."
But I have become used to this new, somewhat variable rhythm to my life, which is more of an improvisational interlude than a smooth melody. Assuming that I one day find a job and return to work, I will have to readjust to that fixed rhythm of life, that quickened staccato of deadlines and crises. Nine months ago, I might have adjusted smoothly and quickly to a new work environment, a new rhythm of labor, a new career. Now, the change will seem more abrupt, like a missed chord or an off beat, but I'll make the change. I am tired of being, as I've joked several times, a "kept man." I'm ready to get back in the groove.
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