Over the holidays, I met up with a friend, a dad to two. Stories about adventures (and misadventures) with the kids kept us occupied. Work crept in. We played out future career moves, paths to more money, and the impact it'd have on the home front.
This friend has been with his firm for years. He's now a partner. He enjoys the work and the people he does it with. He also knows that if he went to a larger firm, he'd take home a larger paycheck. The trade of more money for less fulfilment was front and center for him. Having made that trade several times myself, I offered him this anecdote.
I lost my job the night before Ronan was born. I was angry and stressed. The perpetual needs of an infant temporarily kept me from dwelling on either.
In an alternate reality, I would have returned to this lost role at the eight-week mark. The stress of no income wouldn't exist. I'd have a sense of direction (even if it was an unhappy one). I wouldn't have to wrestle with the stigma of being let go. I fell into this unsatisfying reverie daily. When I snapped out of it, I was left with a tepid desire for what could have been. I knew the relief my old job could provide was no match for the attached baggage.
If I returned to it, I'd need to compartmentalize my dissatisfaction every day when I woke up and then returned home. A performance of presence during the brief time I'd have with Cait and Ronan.
More likely, I'd walk in the door with my internal monologue cycling on what went wrong in the hours before. Behind my eyes, I'd negotiate with existing tasks as they jostled for priority. I'd hear new ones arrive and shout for attention with a ding. The monologue would shift to: Can I really take an hour with Ronan without falling further behind? I'd break. Pick up a screen and start in on something. I'd justify it to myself, saying I just need 5 minutes to do this one thing. That'd bleed into one more thing, and then another. The two hours between daycare and bedtime would go by in a blink. Playtime, dinner time, bath time, reading a few books, all missed.
The ghosts of this alternate reality were not hard to picture. It'd be obvious to Cait how stressed out I was. My "happy dad" performance convincing no one. Still, I'd believe I'd done enough to disguise myself in front of Ronan. That would be the most damaging lie I'd tell myself. No one is more perceptive than a young child. He may not understand abnormal behavior, but my actions set his understanding of what normal is. Ronan looking at a hunched-over man, jaw-clenched, unable to take his gaze away from a laptop night after night. It's a relief this world never materialized.
I did not want to lose my job. I did not plan to dip into our savings at this point or for this purpose. But it is an acceptable trade for the sheer amount of time and love I shared with Ronan without fighting a deep dissatisfaction. I appreciated that at eight weeks. I appreciate it even more today.
That's what I left my friend with.