Work … work … work … work … workaholic…

I love my new job, I’m a little over 2 months in.  I’m feeling successful, feeling driven, and feel proud of myself for moving forward in my career.

I have a distinct skill; I know how to create relationships just long enough to gain trust, then gain business, then walk away.  If you ask any of my customers about me, 9 out of 10 couldn’t tell you anything about my personal life.  They couldn’t tell you my kids names, what they look like, that I have a dog, that my son is special needs, that my daughter loves art, that I live in a small town, or that I’m a survivor.  As for me, I know their wife’s name, where their kids went to college, their favorite color, and how they like their coffee.  

I’m a professional at hiding my life.  An over achiever at making sure I’m not giving to much information.  I’m in control of every conversation.

Then I go home….

I go home to my reality.  My dog jumps up with excitement, my son can’t focus past the TV, my daughter is absorbed in a fairy tale of not having to deal with her mom focusing on her brother and his disability.  I realize I can’t hide, I can’t achieve more then the day allows, and I have little control over the life I’ve been given.

I tell them I love them, make sure they fed the dog, ask what homework they have, make them some food, and go sit in front of my computer.

I’m back in a space where I have complete control.  Where only I can affect the outcome…

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