Living My Dream!

“Or was it a nightmare?”

March 2020

Like everyone else on the planet, I turned my attention outward to focus on something much more important than my publishing dreams and wannabe writer’s ambitions—the health and safety of family, friends, co-workers, and every health care professional in the world who, unwittingly, had chosen a profession that was globally unappreciated and undervalued.

When Covid-19 hit, it felt like the entire human race was riding out the same bad storm. First with having to learn to wash our hands properly, then by wearing the “right” face mask (or not) before having to transition into a life of segregation and physical separation while anxiously awaiting to be vaccinated (or not).

My dreams now replaced with nightmares, paralyzed by the fear that the people I cared about the most would contract this highly contagious, incurable disease. With every ounce of my being, I taught myself to calm my worries—to dim my overactive imagination—by squeezing my wide eyes shut and taking deep breaths. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t push away the images of one or both of my children falling ill or, worse, succumbing to Covid-19. As the mother of Jarrit and Kaitlynn—and with no visible bullet for me to jump in front of—I had never felt so helpless in my entire forty-eight years on this earth.

At work, the atmosphere was a mixed bag of emotions—sometimes we found humour, sometimes we dabbled in the disbelief, and sometimes we were totally confused—shake that corporate bag of goodies at any given moment, and one or all would fall out.

I was the in-scope supervisor of the administration department at a power plant. My sole professional purpose was to oversee the workload of the ten very talented and amazingly resilient Business Assistants. Who I had grown to care about and deeply respect and had worked with for many years—in the not-so-distant past—side by side. When the pandemic’s waves got too choppy and the corporate wind picked up, it was only then the powers that be would refer to me as their leader.

It wouldn’t be long into Covid-19 before I would begin to question my common sense. I found my sanity tested at times by a few of my co-workers’ growing paranoia regarding the government’s motives in the handling of the pandemic. While sitting in the file room during breaks, two metres a part, I would listen intently to conspiracy theories about how our democratically chosen governing body was purposely trying to hurt us or, better yet, kill us.

Very much unlike me, I succeeded (most times) in keeping my mouth shut and my head down. Choosing to respectfully and silently block out those swirling conspiracy theories that were themed at snuffing us out. I focused on what was within my power to do. By diligently followingly the, albeit confusing and sometimes misleading, corporate safety rules and regulations that—on second thought—were geared more towards maintaining the integrity of all the units instead of tracking the health, safety, and well-being of the site personal. I choose, instead, to set my sights on attempting to keep me and mine healthy and safe. By washing my hands—vigorously. By wearing my mask—uncomfortably. By physically separated myself from others—religiously. And, by accepting the jab of that needle filled with the making of a quickly concocted vaccine—willingly.

Add to everything else my work life had now invaded my home life. I set up a makeshift workstation in my dining room along with my obligation to answer calls from work. Which made me have to think about work all in the comfort of my own home. While working from home—sometimes wearing a blouse with mismatched pajamas bottoms pacing my living room floor—I would be forced to strategize about HR requirements, adjust workloads, meet set targets, and ponder key performance indicators. That invisible line I had drawn to separate my work life from home life was not just blurred, it had disappeared altogether.

As I grew physically and emotionally exhausted, I was neither mentally prepared nor able to summon the stamina to slam my corporate laptop shut at the end of each work day to then reach for my writing laptop. I just didn’t have it in me, and my bloodshot eyes would have none of it.

Covid-19 proved to be a challenging time, but it also gave me a rejuvenated perspective on the shortness of my life and the importance of living my dream.

Near the end of this upside-down, sideways, and sometimes tumultuous time—when I finally felt safe enough to look up—I saw my fiftieth birthday fast approaching. In the corporate world, it was referred to as retirement age, to me; it was something else entirely.

It was the start line for this wannabe writer to begin living my dream.

Coming up next: Justifiable Racism (spoiler alert: Is there even such a thing?).