I don't sail through the changing ocean tides

After my recent post about anxiety, perhaps it would come as no big surprise that I don't do well with change. I don't simply sail through the changing ocean tides. And in some cases, I don't handle the seasons of my life particularly well, either. If all of this sounds familiar, it's because I'm blatantly stealing lyrics from the Fleetwood Mac song, "Landslide." I mean, why should I come up with my own words when Stevie Nicks expresses them so soulfully?

I guess I've known this about myself for a long time, but it really became clear after I had kids. When Ben was born, I was so freaked out for a while that sometimes I wished I could have him climb back into the womb to gestate, you know, just a little longer, until I felt really ready for him to be on the outside.

Sometimes in the beginning, I thought, gosh, I'd really like to just go back to work where everything is predictable. Only, of course, I didn't really want to go back to work at all. I'd known that all along, so soon I spent my entire 12-week maternity leave fretting about the fact that I'd soon have to leave my baby.

Yes, I can take a really wonderful experience, like the birth of a first child, and turn it into a stress fest. When I quit my job to stay home with the boys after Paul was born, that should have been the best time of my life, right? Finally, I'd gotten everything I'd ever wanted. The thing is, there's a strangeness that comes with having your dream realized. Suddenly, I got a little panicky. OK, we're all home together, now what the heck are we supposed to do all day?

Of course, after a little while, I took to motherhood, to staying home, even to going back to work when I had to return to my job. All my experiences don't mean that I handle the new challenges any better, however.

After posting about my desire to explore wading back into the job market, a seemingly ideal opportunity presented itself. In the fall, Gus's preschool will host a 4K class for Appleton Area School District's new program. His teacher was looking for an assistant. The hours couldn't be better: three and a half hours a day. Gus could be in school while I was working, I'd have summers off, all I'd ever wanted in a part-time job.

I went for the position with gusto, expressing interest early on, the first to get in my application. I didn't think twice about it. All that changed when the school's board contacted me for an interview. I'm not sure if interview angst is what altered my feelings. I hate, HATE interviewing. I don't know if it's my shyness, the fact that I don't know what will be asked and subsequent fear of saying something stupid, or my discomfort with being the center of attention that set me off on my descent into a dread spiral. Probably all of the above.

Anyhoo, suddenly I was ambivalent, weepy about the last seven years passing so quickly. Waaah ... I mean, can you blame me for being afraid of changing? I've built my life around them. (There I go again. Sorry, Stevie.)

My interview was set for last Thursday, and I spent all last week with my intestines tied in knots. Even though I was very familiar with everyone who would sit on the interview committee, knew they were not intimidating people, I was a complete wreck. Granted, I calculated that it's been nearly 12 years, since I've sat down for an interview. Still, get a grip, woman!

In the end, the interview was fine, quite informal really. In the days after, doubt remained. Was this really the job for me? Was it really time yet? I became convinced that not getting it would be something of a relief. All of that changed when I learned today that they offered the job to another candidate, one with classroom experience. Relief was not my initial emotion, the sting of rejection was. I wanted to say no, dammit, not be told no.

It's mere hours later now, and I think I'm going to be fine. In fact, maybe this was for the best. I can take next year and really explore what I want to do. I'm grateful I had the experience of interviewing. Maybe it'll help me be less afraid next time. Let's be serious, though. I doubt it.

I know change is coming for me, sooner or later, whether I like it or not. I'll try to take comfort in the fact that time makes you bolder. Children get older. And I'm getting older, too.