I don’t know much about husbands and lovers. By circumstance or design, they haven’t been a part of my life. And perhaps on some level, I didn’t think they could co-exist with my career.
I love work (if I can call it that). Recently, I’ve devised a fictional battle between my two current work loves: coaching and writing. While I spend more time coaching, I tell strangers in zoom breakout rooms that I’m stuck, and cannot choose which I’d rather engage in at this stage of my life. More often than not, I receive well-meaning but unhelpful responses:
“It’s doesn’t have to be either/or.”
“You’ll find your rhythm, I’m sure.”
And, my personal favourite: “You still have time to choose.”
Truthfully, I am not rushed. To me both are fruits of an orchard in which I find myself strolling. And while ‘leisurely’ is not an adjective that my friends and family would use when describing my approach, it does ring true for me right now.
In the two years I’ve been doing it professionally, coaching has become more comfortable, but not boring. I liken it to a marriage in its early stages, one in which an ex-lover isn’t quite ex yet. And so, when things get sticky in this young marriage, I turn to my paramour, my writing.
This week, I’ve been languishing in its arms. Naked and vulnerable. And when I emerge, sufficiently loved and perhaps a little hungover, I’ll return home to my marriage. Because it relies on me, and I on it. There is an ease, a rightness that comes with the coaching. A crucible for my clients, so too, it is for me, a vessel of hope, development, and an untold future.
Maybe, my two loves can co-exist after all.
