My last few weeks have been filled with uncertainty. Icky, unsettling uncertainty.

There’s a chance I may lose my job. About 10% of us will. At the moment I am not terribly worried about it – our managers seem to think our group will be spared – with the exception of occasional pangs of panic when the implications of that what-if hit me. We have some savings, I have some marketable skills, but we also have a Vancouver-sized mortgage and an unfriendly job-market. I should find out in the next few weeks whether I might be affected.

My mom was pretty sick recently. She came down with a severe case of pneumonia and spent five days in the hospital being pumped full of antibiotics. Across the world from me. She came through all right and is recuperating at home now – by herself. It’s all a rather harsh reminder that I can’t be there to help her when she needs it. And that’s not going to change in the foreseeable future.

In the meantime, I keep waiting for my eyes to heal, each day assessing my progress and wondering where I’ll end up. There’s a very good chance I’ll get 20/20 or better vision (I’m pretty close now) and the doctor says I’m healing well but I can’t help but worry just a little now and again. It’s my vision after all.

I’m not here for a pity party because this is all rather normal. Unfortunately none of us can be all that certain about our jobs, our health, or our loved ones’ health.

But we like to pretend we can.

In fact I think we have to to get out of bed in the morning. The world is too scary otherwise. We create a bubble around our lives that we pretend we can control; if I just buy my insurance and look both ways before crossing the street and dedicate one hour each day to thinking through all the terrible things that could happen in order to prevent them from happening I’ll be fine. The world won’t get me.

Those moments when you glimpse your true vulnerability – when it sneaks past the intricate psychological barriers your brain has been building up since you first realized your parents don’t control the entire universe – are bone-chillingly terrifying. And then you rush to close your eyes before that image is burned into your mind’s eye forever and you stop being able to laugh till you pee a little at stuff like this.


Posted on April 1, 2012, in Life and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 10 Comments.

  1. I am crossing my fingers for you and will light you a candle later. I know what you mean about being kilometers, oceans, away and not being able to help. But I am sure your mom knows that you are with her all along.
    I really really hope this job thing won’t affect you. And here is hoping that you have a good week. Hugs,.

  2. Ahhh, I hope you get to keep your job. The job market hasn’t been easy on anyone lately. And I can relate to being too far away from family to be of any help… hope your mom is recovering well.

  3. I laughed at your picture up there. Did you take that in Spain? I remember dragging Craig in there in Barcelona because I thought it was the funniest thing ever.

    My sister (a high school teacher) lost her job last Friday. I talked to her this weekend and thought about how “normal” she sounded on the phone. You’re right – we all just keep getting up and up and up each day. We’re a pretty resilient breed.

    I will keep my fingers crossed for you, no matter how slight the change of bad news…

    • Haha, yes it’s from Barcelona. Had to get a picture of it.

      Sorry about your sister’s job – I was just talking to one of my teacher friends about all the cuts to education. Let’s just put ALL the kids into one classroom and throw in one teacher as sacrifice! Yikes. They will have to smarten up soon.

  4. This is one of those posts that I think sum up your blog quite beautifully, especially that second to last paragraph. I think it’s the only way we can kick on.

    You know how sorry I am about everything going on, especially with regards to your mum. Even with all the great perks of technology, I am sure Finland feels a lifetime away sometimes.

    Lots of love xx

  5. I read blogs because sometimes someone writes down EXACTLY what you’re feeling, and that gives you the realization that you are not alone. And sometimes I am scared of being alone.

    “Those moments when you glimpse your true vulnerability – when it sneaks past the intricate psychological barriers your brain has been building up since you first realized your parents don’t control the entire universe – are bone-chillingly terrifying. ”

    YES. Thank you for putting this into words.

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