A catalyst for change

The 10th anniversary of the September 11 attacks on the World Trade Centre and Pentagon has got me thinking about how life can change in a second.

And I'm sure I'm not alone.

Ten years ago, we watched wall-to-wall coverage of the astonishing events. Yesterday, our televisions were filled with both tearful and hopeful interviews with survivors, and those who lost loved ones.

It was the children who were babies - or still in-utero - when they lost a parent that hit the hardest. The lives they were meant to live, and the world they were meant to live in, no longer existed.

In the 10 years since 9/11, I have got married, had two children, six houses (in three states), four jobs.

And lost my father.

I was one of the lucky ones, I had my father with me for 40 years.  But his death hit very hard and was a catalyst for things to come.

Whether it's the death of a loved one, the birth of a child, permanent injury or disability, a move overseas or interstate, divorce, marriage, you name it, there are many things that will happen to all of us that make us question our lives and motivations.

When dad died, I suddenly became the only child of an elderly parent, with the responsibilities that come with that. It also meant that my husband and I had little childcare support for two youngsters (mum helps when she can, but it's not easy for her). It became difficult for us both to work long hours in stressful jobs, as well as be successful parents. Yes, we could have continued as we were - but at what cost?

Something had to give, and for a while, it was my health and sanity.

Then one day, I woke up and decided this was "it". I wasn't going to slave away for someone else any more, and Black Coffee Communication was born.

What makes me sad is that it often takes tragedy and grief for people to have a good look at the lives they are living and prioritise what is important. And trust me, taking that business call at 6pm, when there are kids to be fed and bathed, and books to be read, is not important.

While we can't live in fear of the "what-ifs", I wonder what the traders at Cantor Fitzgerald, the emergency service workers, janitors, airline passengers and others might have done differently had they known that they would draw their last breath on September 11, 2001?

RIP - the world has not forgotten you.

A little bit "woo"

Those of you who know me will know that I am about as "crunchy" as yogurt .

I don't place much store in crystals or Feng Shui or homeopathy; I only did the parts of attachment parenting that suited me (baby wearing frees the hands and breast feeding is, well, heaps more convenient and cheaper); and my wardrobe is bereft of anything made of jute, hemp or kapok.

Something happened this week, though that made me question me steadfasted cynicism about all things "woo".

I went to my regular chiroprator, who is very good at manipulating the bones in my lower back and neck in order for me to carry around 20 kg of toddler (hence the need for a chiropractor).

He  cracked a couple of bones then turned me on to my back, and asked me to put one foot on the other knee and resist him pulling them away. Easy.

Then he lightly pressed two fingers in the diaphragm area and pulled again. Resistance was useless and my leg was like jelly. Huh?

The chiropractor pronounce my adrenaline glands "rooted" (well, he didn't use those exact words, but that was the gist) and said I had been under so much stress lately that I had been pretty much running on adrenaline and my stores were empty.

Anyway. He got out two bottles on herbs and asked me to do the leg thing again. He placed one bottle on my diaphragm and my leg didn't budge. He then took it away and placed the other bottle in the same place. I couldn't resist. Hence, that was the herbal remedy I needed.

I was gobsmacked and walked away $35 poorer but with a bottle of miracle herbs.

Please, someone, give me a rational explanation for this. My pragmatic brain needs it before it implodes. Tks.

(He also suggested I reduce my caffeine intake. I'm still thking about that. If it wasn't for caffeine, I would barely be upright.)

My so-called (freelance) life

So, it's been a little over a week since I jumped of the treadmill to launch Black Coffee Communication (http://www.blackcoffeecommunications.com.au/ - shamless plug) and here are the things I have accomplished:

1. Rearranged the furniture in the house so that I now have an "office". Problem is, the office still contains six amplifiers, three bookshelves, an extra (unconnected) computer and about a bajillion bottles of wine (I'm sure some of you will help with that). What the office does NOT contain is a desk.

2. Offered three new freelance gigs - Facebook marketing for a previous client, a regular blog about industrial cleaning machines (seriously!), and a brand new Fleurieu Peninsula website, launching tomorrow.

3. Cooked some real meals, from scratch, with vegetables.

4. Went to see a grown up movie with the winemaker during school hours...there wasn't an animation in sight!

5. Had my hair cut.

And this is what I have learned.

1. No matter how much you plan to put your feet up between jobs, the universe has other plans. First mum's mini-stroke and then a child at home with the cold put paid to most of my  "me" week. C'est la vie.

2. You can write a blog post for a client while cooking dinner.

3. People want writing services for all sorts of subjects (see above re industrial cleaners!).

4. There's a massively supportive work-at-home parent network out there willing to help a newbie, even if it means taking a risk.

5. This move might turn out to be the best thing I have ever done (bar marrying the winemaker and birthing the kids, naturally).

You can find me blogging about professional stuff these days over at Black Coffee Communication - but I will still be dropping in here at A Small Drop of Ink to vent about personal issues. Hope you don't mind :)

Meat in the sandwich

They call us the sandwich generation. Those of us who had children later in life and are thus caring for preschool-aged kids and at least one elderly parent.

My youngest is 2.5, my mum is 79. Hello sandwich!

This was brought into sharp contrast yesterday.

Missy had to get more grommets so I left Gromit in the care of my mum and headed to the hospital. The surgery all went well (I didn't even cry) and we were heading home about 3 hours later.

On the way, I called mum to see how everything was just to be told that her doctor wants her to go to emergency because he thinks she had a mini-stroke. Great.

So the winemaker knocks off work a little early, picks up Gromit. I get home, dump Missy and turn around to take mum to emergency at a different hospital.

Two hospitals in one day. Is that some kind of record?

Naturally, mum and I sat in the waiting room for about three hours (actually, I tell a lie because I nicked off for a bit to go to the Target toy sale and pick up something for us to eat).

One thing about emergency rooms waiting areas - they are great placed for people watches like mum and me. We saw a man being escorted in by the cops, a young girl with a broken arm and a entourage of family and an elderly bloke who, apparently, knew what needed to be done to save the world from the idiots.

Anyway, once we got in, it was pretty quick. The doctor (who looked about 12 but spoke of a wife, so I guess not) got mum's history - and she's a walking dispensary - did some neurological testing, whacked on a heart monitor and proclaimed, yes, looks like a mini-stroke but we won't know for sure until she can get a CT scan next week. He wasn't too concerned about immediate risks because the episode was minor, so that's the good news.

Four-and-a-half hours later, we were heading home - 10 hours after I first trekked into town to my first hospital of the day.

Oh - should I mentioned this all happened on my first day of wage-slave freedom?

Older and wiser

One of the positive things about growing older (and let's face it, there are many negatives) is the ability to roll with the punches when life throws its little curve balls at you.

I'm not talking about those life-changing curve balls like death or divorce, but rather those little disappointments which once made us feel inadequate, unloved or friendless.

For example, nowadays, if I'm at a party and not having a good time, I just go home. Once upon a time I would have stuck it out to the bitter end, in case something good happened and I missed it. It usually didn't (in my experience, if a party starts off kind of sucky, it's probably going to stay that way).

If I miss out on a job, I just shrug and try and improve the next time. If someone at work doesn't like me, tough, we still have to work together. The 20-year old me would have been shattered by these experiences as it would have been some kind of proof that I wasn't worthy of the new job, or the friendship.

I was reminded of this last night when we were out to celebrate a friend's birthday.

The night did not start well, as we arrived to learn the only option was a seafood buffet for $45. Several of our party didn't eat seafood. Others baulked at the cost - they were saving their pennies for the drinking, after all :)

The younger me would definitely be in the latter category. The 43-year old me just hooked into the prawns!

We managed to convince the restaurant manager to reduce the cost for the people who didn't want seafood (there were pasta and salad options), a pretty reasonable outcome, I think.

Anyway, the night settled into a comfortable mood, and I ate my $45 worth of shellfish, salmon and dessert. Unfortunately for one of our friends, the wine and the smell of the seafood turned her an ugly shade of greeny/grey with a bit of blue thrown in for good measure and she need to be taken home - about  45 minutes drive away. Some fantastic ladies (you know who you are) willingly left dinner to accompany her home.

After the bill came and was tallied (a whole other nightmare), some of the younger ones decided to brave the nearby nightclub. Me? I know when I'm beat, so I headed home.

I haven't yet heard the postmortem from those who went out afterwards. I sincerely hope they had a fantastic time to make up for teh earlier parts of the night.

Me? Once I would have felt I had missed out on something by going home early. Today I am just grateful I got a decent night's sleep.

Liberation

Today I did the most frightening, exhilarating, exciting thing I think I have ever done.

I handed in my resignation from my steady, well-paying tenured public sector job to concentrate on establishing my own business.

Those of you who read this blog regularly probably knew this was coming. And honestly, I probably knew for the past six months or so - but finally started listening to my heart instead of my head.

I have wanted to be a freelance writer/editor for more than 20 years.

As a naive uni student, I thought I would work a few years, then strike out on my own. Travelling the world and filing stories from all sorts of exotic locations and getting paid buckletloads of cash for the privilege.

Then reality hit. Journalism is hard slog, and crap money. And about 0.0000001 per cent of journalism students actually become international household names. I'm not one of them.

So, after 10 years in journalism, I moved sideways into public relations and corporate communications. Still intending to do it for a couple of years before returning to my passion - writing.

And here I am, 12 years later FINALLY doing it. And the good thing about my years of experience outside journalism is that I now also have experience at business writing. This means I can actually earn a crust - there's more money in writing annual reports, corporate profiles, policies and other business documents than there is in pure freelance journalism.

I have had some great support from my friend and family. Even the Winemaker - the most risk-averse person I know - is cheering me on.

It's a great feeling - I recommend it.

Life is too short to be swallowed up by bureaucracy.

My Craptastic week

Ever had one of those weeks where you can't possibly imagine things will get worse?

Then, they do?

Well, that gives you a bit of an idea of where I'm coming from this grey Thursday.

As if the winter gloom wasn't enough, the universe has decided to throw a few curve balls my way and see if I can handle it.

The week started off great, with a girls' night at the movies. Bridesmaids - see it. I laughed so hard I nearly peed. (Champagne+Maltezers+good friends+chick flick = Made of Win!).

Then, the little annoyances started piling up - traffic, lost shoes, a kid with a cold. Hyperbole-and-a-half's Sneaky Hate Spiral explains this much better than I ever could.

So,  I arrive at work on Tuesday to pretty much learn that the Executive has completely devalued the work our project team has done over the past six months or so., Apparently, when you are trying to market/promote entirely new legislation to a state, you can just grab marketing collaterol from other states and rebadge it.

Tuesday night was spent caring for a kid who couldn't sleep due to coughing/stuffed nose etc and Wednesday morning required an early call to my mum to care for said kid for the day (thanks mum - and thanks mum's friend who also had her plans changed!)

On Wednesday, I sat on a interview panel where one of the applicants was the person who has been doing said job for nearly 18 months (New slogan for the public sector "We're accountable, not efficient").

Then, a meeting with the boss in which I receive confirmation on what I already suspected - strategic communications to deliver new legislation is a skill that the agency doesn't think it needs, and I have two months to go back to my substantive, frustrating, annoying, stress-inducing management role (with all the responsibility and no authority - again welcome to the public sector) or leave. The first is not an option.

Then, just to make my week even more craptastic (literally), this morning, the cat poos on the couch and Gromit sits on it.

Really Pepper? You had to pick this week?