Day 2 on the job

So...today wasn't filled with nearly as many putative catastrophes.

The dog behaved, the basement ceiling remained in one piece and I didn't get any makeup in my eye, mouth or other orifice. And I had only one sartorial mishap when, in trying to juggle hose (I'm old school on the hose issue, especially when the temperature goes below 50) and the phone, I naturally poked a hole. And the hole begat a long, winding run. But I guessed correctly that my skirts was just long enough to cover.

As for what I did that day? I went to a venture capital panel on mobile technology. Now, I do have a blackberry and I've had one for more than a year. I do like having it and I probably use it more than I should but it does come in handy. And I like technology, generally; I'm the IT specialist in the house and Michael says I run a 24 hour hotline for computer and other emergencies. 

But the panel was replete with jargon and concepts that were completely foreign to me. What is an RPU? Do I care? Does anyone outside of this room care? Aren't there already enough apps for an IPhone? And why on earth would I want to use my phone as a credit card. Fortunately, I was able to keep quiet. I just kept trying to remember all the terms--without writing them down so as not to look too out of the loop--so that I could google everything once I got home (how reliable is wikipedia?)

This re-entry thing is tough slogging

Day 1

You just couldn't make this stuff up.

I have an internship. In the venture capital world. One day a week, which is good as a start.

I know I need to reorganize my life, even to get out one day a week. So, I get up at 6:30. Walk the dog. Take husband to the train. Get son up for school. Jump in shower. Wake son up again. Eat a quick breakfast. Wake son up again (it works this time). Pack his lunch. Put out drycleaning. Lure dog into kitchen so he can remain until dogwalker arrives midday.

Dry hair rapidly, attempt makeup. Huge glob of makeup lands in eye. Replace contact lens with new contact lens. Realize shirt is inside out. Change shirt. Put on coat, scarf, gloves, etc because of course it is the coldest day of the year.

Rush to train. Hundreds of people on the platform, not a good sign. Turns out that not only is my train late, but the train before it is late. Jump on first train. Stand all the way to grand central.

Get out. Buy water, second newspaper because I think I have 40 minutes to get to Wall Street. Go to subway platform. Miss first train. Wait 15 minutes for second train. Stand AGAIN all the way to Wall Street.

Get to office. Meet new boss. He says, "did you bring a laptop? I forgot to tell you to bring one." Needless to say, what do I know about bringing a laptop? I didn't

So we stay, chat a bit, I use my blackberry for notes on things I do not fully understand and then head back home.

Attempt to get soup. They're out of anything palatable. Which is a good thing because when I walk in the kitchen, I see that the dog has something terribly wrong. Perhaps it has to do with his escaping for 2 hours Saturday night, winding up at a party blocks away where they were roasting a pig. Not sure. Spend 30 minutes cleaning up. Head to basement to get final supplies to clean rest of floor.

Ceiling in the basement has fallen in. A whole chunk. over the washing machine. Debris (probably asbestos, but too late, I've already breathed) everywhere. Water too. Plumber not calling me back.

What a day.

The first round

I started--very gingerly--to talk to people that I've known. A lawyer I've interviewed, a recruiter, someone in advertising. They all thought it was funny--the 50 year old intern--but then said that it wasn't a bad idea.

The lawyer I know set up an afternoon of interviews. I didn't really want to go to a law firm--I had worked at one for several years early on--but thought I would go because I was, after all, so much wiser. The offices were nice--great views, location--and the lawyers, of all ages, uniformly smart, interesting and personable. Still, I was neither sure that I wanted to be there and I could tell they weren't so sure of this whole thing.

And while I was sitting in a conference room, my thoughts wandered to my 16 year old, with his freshly minted (or is it printed) license, who had taken the car to school for the first time. Would he get home? Would he do all that homework in those ridiculously demanding junior year classes? Maybe I wasn't ready for this.

I was relieved, quite honestly, when the office manager said there was no space for me til January. It let me off the hook for awhile. And maybe I could come to terms with the slight case of depression I felt at working at a firm again

Getting Started

So I hatched an idea to intern. After all, why should only 20 year olds have the fun? I decided that if college kids could, then I, as a seasoned, yet still floating 50 year old, could as well.

My son immediately said, "Aren't you too old?" He meant it objectively, but I took it as a dare. I figured I could do this, and I didn't even have to worry about getting hit upon (not that I worried about this when I was 20).

Perspective

While the freelance work I was doing was getting more infrequent, I started to think about what my other options might be. Now I've written a number of stories on women returning to work, I guess because I've known that some day--and it's getting closer by the day--I would return to work full time. Now, with my daughter a junior in college and my son a junior in high school, I know that I want to rejoin the working world sometime within the year.

But here's the thing--I really am not sure what I wanted to do next. I've practiced law as a litigator and have worked on staff as an editor at the National Law Journal, a legal newspaper, and then freelance as a reporter once the babysitter quit. But now, with newspapers and magazines making major cuts and blogging making work a round-the-clock job, I wasn't sure what was next.

I know that this is what my husband Michael calls a high-class problem. Because I'm fortunate enough to be able to afford to work freelance and spend lots of, um, quality time home with my teenagers. (I think my daughter liked having me around; my son has his doubts).

So, it's the age-old (i know, it's a bad pun) quandary: what should I be when I grow up?

The age thing

This all started as a lark. I was working as a freelance reporter, fairly consistently for the New York Times, first for the Westchester section and then for the business section.
But one by one the editors with whom I worked left or were reassigned.
And then the credit crisis hit, and with my husband practicing law at one of the big (hopefully too-big-to-fail) banks, I found that I was conflicted out of writing on many topics.

And so I started to think about what else I could do with my life.