I don't really talk about being an author at work. Not that it's necessarily a secret, mind you. It's just that when I'm at work I'm...well, at work. I have work to do and lots of it. Very little of my 9 to 5 (okay 6 to 3 in my case) has anything to do with writing and any writing I do is certainly not hilarious and/or sad. I blog for my company as well, but I do that in the early mornings when I can't sleep or after 4pm when I'm at home. And it's pretty funny, but I never, ever use the word douchehole. My company would really frown upon that. I'm sure of it.
But some people at work know that I write. I suppose word gets around. It's not a secret, like I said, I just don't advertise it.
Yesterday, a few people at my work were talking about my book. I came down the stairs and they looked over at me and asked if my ears were burning. I laughed, even though I felt awkward. Even though I am awkward.
I wanted my boss to revel in the utter joy that is Sardines, so I sent him the link. We shared an office for so long that he knows a million things about my children and he's a dad himself of two really funny short people. He knows about my book and he's cool, so I didn't mind sending him the link to my blog. He later asked me if I could start selling Kool-aid, because he thought it was absolutely hilarious that I had "followers". I told him it was hilarious to me too. That sometimes everything about what I do and who I am is really, really funny to me.
It's been said to me that I'm lucky. I agree.
I'm not rich, I'm not famous, and I'm about the biggest dork you'll ever meet in your entire life, but I'm lucky.
I have two great, healthy, kind kids who are growing into really fantastic human beings. I have friends all over this world that I can call on and who will be there for me in a moments notice. I have no shortage of phone numbers I can call or emails I can send to say, "Hey, I'm thinking of you. I love you". I had the honor of discussing something painful and life-altering with someone I've never met, but truly care about, over instant messaging the other day. She helped me so much and I hope I helped her, just a little.
That's lucky. That's amazingly lucky.
In a craptacular economy, I have a job. Not only do I have a job, I have more than one job, make enough money to pay my bills and even have a little savings in the bank, and I genuinely love going to work every day. I have friends at work who are more than "work friends". My supervisor is like a trusted aunt who is fiercely protective and loving (and also tells me when my boobs are crooked), my former boss is one of my besties. I laugh, really laugh, every single day of my life. Even when it's stressful.
And I call that lucky.
I won't deny that I get to do some really cool stuff. If you've known me for any length of time at all you know that it was pretty much my life-long dream to write a book and, you know, actually have people read it. Just the fact that I actually got to do that is pretty much enough to sustain me for the rest of forever. I'm easy like that.
But it's more. I get to do a lot of really cool stuff and I'm really thankful for it. Sometimes I'm amazed by it. I think sometimes when I'm old and gray I'll have a lot of funny, cool stories to tell.
But a lot of those stories will be laughing about peens with my co-workers. About bowling at the Family Bowl with my girlfriends. About how my I told the cashier my son was my money manager and my son immediately put his hands on his hips and said, "Stop spending so much cash woman!". About all the little, tiny moments that overwhelm me with love and awe and gratitude that I get to live this life.
The people I love and the people who love me are what it's all about. The rest of it could go away in a heartbeat, and I'd still be all good.