tempted by a ghost

I'm being tested.

Not in the sit-in-a-gymnasium-and-write-for-three-hours tested, but in the put-your-money-where-your-mouth-is tested. Do-what-you-said-you-believed-in tested. Yeah, that kind. The kind that makes you say 'dang, the road I'm meant to travel has to be gravelly and full of pot holes, doesn't it'.

Here I sit, in the heart of self-proclaimed wine country (and yes, there are some teeth to that statement - I have a glass of Black Cloud Wine Pinot Noir in hand as I type this). We turned our backs to the trappings and civility of the Big City in exchange for a chance to float our own boat, so to speak. We headed for the hills, intent on starting a life more true to who we were. Who we are. Who I am.

Opportunity doesn't always have the best timing. And life has a wicked sense of humour.

A few years ago, while on the treadmill of urban living, my 'career' was on a certain trajectory. I worked for a great organization, one that was envied as a Top Employer. And my supervisor was keen on getting my career on the fast track, too. I had a Plan.

Then I went back to school. I met different people; like minded people. I found a mentor. This push/pull me in the direction of my life thing started to happen. My compass realigned and I listened to myself. We ended up here, and better for it.

Two plus years in, things are starting to fall into place. The life I - and we - want to have is germinating. Stuff is growing. Things are sprouting. It feels very right, and very good. It figures that smack-dab in the middle of all this feel good-ness, I get it. The news, that is.

What would have once been my dream job is posted. And I have a connection. An in. Someone I know who wants me in that job. A job that pays very, very well.

The former dream job is in Vancouver.

I sleep on it. In the morning, I realize that what I'm tempted by is only a ghost. It's the ghost of what could have been, a skewed sense of accomplishment measured against the wrong horizon. For me.

Did I pass the test? I'm not sure. Part of me wants to apply, enter the competition and win - if only to decline, but know I could have had what I'd once wanted.

Another part of me, the one that slaves over the ninth edit of a still unpublishable manuscript, says to hell with it. Then that part tells me to get back to work - my real work.

And I listen. So here I am, drinking a beautiful glass of local wine, heeding the call of putting words to a page. Telling a story.

Cheers.


~ Jeannette