You Can't Drag Me Back To The Office  

Tomorrow marks one year since I left the rat race and joined the ranks of the stay-at-home mothers (and subsequently, the ranks of the work-at-home mothers).

At the time, I wasn't sure how long term my arrangement would be. DH & I had discussed our finances, crafting a strict budget that we'd have to adhere to -- no matter what -- in order to stay above water, let alone add to our savings or investments. I knew exactly how much I could spend every month on gas; I knew down to the penny how much I had for groceries. What I didn't know what if we could survive, let alone thrive, under our new system.

Me and G on my first day of work -- January 5th, 2009 -- after the end of my maternity leave. Back in those days, I got roughly 90 minutes a day with my daughter.
Fast-forward a year, and I can now say that -- barring any tragedies (which, if you judge by Monday's post, I'm not letting myself even consider) -- I never plan on returning to the office. I'll admit that I've worked far more hours in the past year than I initially planned when I left my news producer job at the local NBC station, mostly for selfish, materialistic reasons: to buy me (or the kids) new clothes; in order to pay for a nice dinner for me and DH; to stock money away for our planned trip to Disney World next summer to celebrate G's 4th birthday. But, true to a career in freelancing, every hour I worked was an hour I chose to work. I had the option -- an option I didn't have in my traditional working days -- to say no to any assignment or project offered to me.

I took vacations when I wanted to, sometimes on short notice. When I had a headache or simply felt too tired (or for much of the year, too pregnant) to work, I turned off my computer and took an impromptu sick day. I spent hours upon hours scribbling in a Tinkerbell coloring book alongside G on the living room floor. I watched my son turn from a bump in my belly to a red, writhing newborn to a chubby, bubbly five-month-old without missing (almost) a single minute.

I'm surprised to say that I've never regretted my decision to leave my job and my career behind. Honestly. That first morning I woke up feeling relieved, confident that I'd done what was best for me and my family; a year later, I hold on to that same feeling with, dare I say, even more confidence. I didn't like my job. I didn't like my boss. I didn't like where the industry was headed. Taking control of my life and realizing that, despite the inherent risks of being technically unemployed in a dicey economy, I could choose another path were the best decisions of my life.

I don't mean to suggest that I'll never work another day in my life; in some respects, I've worked harder in the past year than I ever did in a traditional work setting. I enjoy the work I do these days -- far more, in fact, than I ever did while working in TV. But I like the fact that I don't work inside an office. I like that I don't work Monday through Friday, 9am to 6pm. I may even choose to work full-time again one day; I have a sneaking suspicion one friend won't let me avoid corporate America for ever.

But I do plan to avoid the office for the rest of my life. I don't need a cubicle or a morning editorial meeting to validate the job I do or the results I get. For me, working at 10am on a Saturday morning or 9pm on a Sunday night is ideal. I don't need the structure of a boss hovering over my shoulder, or a clock ticking away precious minutes of sunlight while I'm locked inside a cavernous office. I need freedom.

And a year ago this week, I made a decision that's allowed me to get just what I need.

And it's everything I ever wanted.