I woke up this morning feeling the loss of work acutely. It’s over a decade since I was last employed and I thought I would be over the sense of loss long before now but it hangs around like the glimpse of an almost forgotten face in a crowd – familiar but an unclear memory.
I loved work and in most jobs I did I worked long hours. I think I secretly loved the jobs with the long hours much more than I did the ones with a rigid clocking on and off time. I loved the jobs that were just bordering on too difficult for me and then tired of them when I conquered them.
The jobs I hated or the jobs that didn’t stretch me had me hating work whilst I was in them but the moment that I moved on to pastures new (and there were very many of those moments) I began to smile and fall back in love with it again.
A friend is setting up something exciting right now and using me as a sounding board. A large part of me knows that there’ll never be a return to work but when I see the sort of project that they’re beginning with the knowledge that I could run it with glee and passion makes me mourn the loss of my long past working days.
I have good days and I have great days but I also have bad days and horrendous days which means that there will never be a realistic return to work. A slightly low or giddy feeling can, within a matter of seconds, spin out of control into a long and deeply devastating round of rapid cycling and the end of them cannot be predicted. It’s an unstable life with a little less instability at the core and I have to accept that, much as I love work, it just isn’t and never will be, a part of my life again.