I own my own business. Lets call it Sweets Shop. ‘Cause if I told you its REAL name you wouldn’t shop there, that’s why. We are family friendly, even though sometimes I myself am not. I could run for office. . . . kiss the baby, shake the hand.
Honestly though, I love it. Even though it’s a lot of work and causes untold stress (please see post below for the told stresses), it makes me happier than any job I have ever had. It’s me, from corner to corner, and I get out of it more or less what I put into it. There isn’t some other sweets shop doing better than mine even though they are lazy and poorly trained for the job. If I work hard, it shows. I make more money, have happier customers and usually have more fun. How many people with bosses and co-workers can say that?
Still, I know it isn’t what I want to do for the rest of my life. I work 6 days a week for one thing. I don’t have to but remember I get what I put into it? And I want more time for other things, like travel and seeing my extended family and not being charming on the weekends. And I basically have the same 10 conversations every day, because people are not as unique as we seem to think.
Mostly though, it comes down to this incident. The husband, who works about 20-30 hours at the sweets shop, in addition to his own good paying part time job, was working in the back kitchen. He came out, eyes downcast, body slumped. And I ached. A guy he used to work with, a guy he’s better than, called to say he’d gotten a job my husband would give his eye teeth for. Why didn’t my husband get it you may well ask? Well two reasons really. One I cannot control, one I can.
The one I can’t relates to him not doing a god damn thing to actually get a job in his field. Well that’s not true, he bitches and putters and searches the web, but that’s about it really. I think its part fear, fear of the unknown, the fear of rejection. His field is almost all contract work, we’d have to live in an expensive city, and if I don’t own the sweets shop, my chances of making decent money are pretty slim. Here life is easy, big fish small pond easy. Out there is big and we are small. On to the things I can control.
I can sell my shop, bank some money and give him time to follow his dream. He is educated and talented. He deserves a chance to be happy, to find a career where it shows when he works hard. I’m scared because I have to give up my security, my control to do it. And in this economy, what if no one wants the sweets shop. What about our house? What if he can’t get enough contracts to support us? It’s like selling a child so you have money to join the circus.
Okay so maybe that last bit doesn’t make sense to you, but it does to me. How does one decide where to place their bets in life
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