To-do list

“Wake up and smell the coffee, Joanna!”

That’s what dad told me this morning before I slammed the door to go to work. I just popped in to say hi and, as usual, he started patronizing me about my life choices. It wasn’t the first time; he had been telling me to face reality for years now.

There was nothing wrong with my work, I loved it, the money was good, my colleagues were my best friends, I even met my current boyfriend there. I was lucky: I loved my work so much that it didn’t even feel like working sometimes. I was the chief editor of a magazine about education and upbringing. Not only did my job pay well, but it was also meaningful as every monthly issue helped millions of families and teachers deal with everyday problems with children and adolescents.

Why was dad constantly criticizing it? What was wrong with loving my job? This question buzzed in my ears while I was driving and listening to the news on channel 4.

The truth is, I hadn’t just popped in to say hallo to my dad this morning, I told him that he would soon become a grandpa. A baby boy was on his way. Also, the doc. suggested that I should start taking it easy with job trips and overtime. So yeah, I had a bun in the oven and my 5-month tummy was starting to show. It was time to let my boss and my colleagues officially know, if they didn’t suspect it already. I was giggling in expectation while gently caressing my little bun. I still couldn’t believe it.

My dad was on cloud 9 obviously, I could see it immediately when I told him. But then he started to tell me again how my job was controlling my life, my schedule, my friendships, my free time, my meals; how it was a constant source of stress (I call it commitment but whatever), and that I had to remove the rose-colored glasses and face the facts: I had to stop identifying my life with my work.

“You are a human being, not a human doing!,” that was my dad’s line. I had become quite deaf to it over the years but this morning it hit me a bit harder because I saw a pinch of pity in his eye, as if he thought that I could not manage a baby and a career at the same time.

I dismissed my dad’s words as usual: he belonged to a different generation where work was ugly, and coworking and happy hours did not exist.

“Wow Joanna! That’s wonderful news” said my boss, as I expected. I knew she would be happy for me. I told her that I would soon start working remotely, because the daily 2-hour drive was too much, at least that’s what my doc recommended. My colleagues flooded me with compliments and the next day, a bunch of baby blue balloons was floating over my desk and a silver pregnancy chime was waiting for me.

I loved my work; it was just like a family for me.

That was June 21^st 2023. Exactly one year ago.

It turned out my dad was right. Ome month after that office party, I start working from home. It was totally doable, I mean, I did most of my work online anyway even when I was working at the office: I checked drafts, submitted articles, talked to fellow chief-editors on video calls. And yet, somehow, it all changed. Not immediately. While I was enduring the last quarter of my pregnancy, I kept working like before, even more actually, because I wanted to prove to the world and to myself that I could do everything, that I could make it work. I never missed a deadline, I even organized digital online breaks with my colleagues. Then little Tom entered this world with all the overwhelming energy of a newborn. Despite the sleepless nights and the full days, things were going reasonably well, also thanks to my boyfriend who was actually an excellent and caring father. I never stopped working, because I knew I could do both, being a mum and work. And I did. But then I realized that my colleagues were meeting for real after work without me, that they listened when I spoke about nappy change and baby wearing but they didn’t care: they could not relate. They didn’t have to. The still texted me to check in, but I knew they were having a gin tonic while I was juggling between feeding little Tom and editing the latest draft. And I was happy, proud of being a successful working mum.

Then one day, I was looking at my 5month old baby who was smiling, and I smiled back. And it hit me. My to-do list was in full display on my desktop: all the deadlines, the videocalls, ideas for new projects in black and the appointment with the pediatrician and for vaccinations in baby blue, as well as the slots reserved for having a walk with the baby, for batch cooking and for interviewing possible nannies.

Out of the window I was watching toddles and children at the playground. They were so focused, so committed, nothing else mattered but playing, alone or with other children, it really didn’t matter. And they did not do it because it was on their to-do list. Yes, it hit me. They were BEING children, they were DOING nothing but BEING children. Dad’s line “human being, not human doing” resonated in my brain.

And I woke up and smelled the coffee.

My job was great, it was meaningful and had an impact on society, my office and my coworkers were nice. I was accomplished as a writer and as a working mum.

But, it mentally drained me, as a person. I decided to stop considering work as measurement for my success and fulfilment. There was more to me than work, it was time to give some space to those underfed parts of me. Did I quit my job? No, I am still chief editor and I work from home twice a week. But I have made some new friends, I have started an online photography course and I have resumed writing for fun, not just for work.

I still love my job, I know I am good at it, but I don’t let it define the whole of me: indeed, now I am also a mum, an amateur photographer and writer, a volunteer at the local library to do some children reading. These things are not on my to-do list, they don’t need to be.