Tim quit his job last August. He had a number of reasons for doing so (some not appropriate to post on the Internet, although my tasteful and "be-the-bigger-person" character traits are just barely winning out right now, and a big part of me has some already-picked-out-and-practiced choice words for two certain individuals, just in case I ever happen to see them strolling ever-so-shadily around Carlsbad). However, my bitterness doesn't stem from the fact Tim left an otherwise lucrative and successful job. While there were nights we stayed up late talking about "options" and "responsibilities" and "future plans," and tears may have entered the scenario once or twice, ultimately I know how right his decision was. Because, to be honest, my pride and respect for his actions easily outshone any fear of his potential unemployment. Tim has never been one to settle for "mediocre"-- in swim races, in residences, in career paths. In high school he wanted to be the fastest: he still owns more than half of his school's swim records. In college he wanted to win NCAA's: he did it three years in a row, and became an American record holder in the process. He diligently followed a job to Texas, and ended up discontent and unchallenged in Dallas: he moved back to California and started working for Callaway.
In every facet of his life, Tim puts his whole self; he works hard and he plays hard. He has big dreams, and he isn't afraid to pursue them. He has been coaching swimming for the past four months, and his career is a passion again. His eyes light up when he tells me about a set, a practice, an angry athlete's turnaround behavior. When I picked him up at the airport after a weekend swim meet in Portland, his laughter and stories about "kids swimming out of their shorts!" and too many gummy bears filled the car. He teaches lessons on Saturday mornings, and goes overtime because he "really wants this kid to get the breaststroke kick right." He brought his swimmers donuts on his own birthday, because "they've done a really great job this week." As an added bonus, he has time to spear fish in the middle of the day and coach master's swimming in the morning. He worked on the boat The Horizon last week, while it was in dry-dock, solidifying his place as a crew member on a 5-day Great White cage diving trip in August. He's revived his passion for photography, and he finds spare moments to snap the sunrise, the shoreline, the Santa Ynez foothills. A silent and wearisome burden has been lifted from his shoulders, and he no longer has to wake up in the morning and drive to an unfulfilling and frustrating cubicle. John Irving's Owen Meany said, "IF YOU CARE ABOUT SOMETHING, YOU HAVE TO PROTECT IT—IF YOU’RE LUCKY ENOUGH TO FIND A WAY OF LIFE YOU LOVE, YOU HAVE TO FIND THE COURAGE TO LIVE IT.” My husband is certainly doing just that.
So Tim and I are lucky. We both are currently working in fields that inspire, enrich, and motivate us. We wake up in the morning eager to challenge and create and teach. However, because Tim's new job requires he coach in the evenings, it's been a lot harder for us to find time for us. Dinners together are rare. "Have you watched the new Law and Order in the DVR?" is often followed by, "Yes." Happy hour invites are filled with one instead of two. This part hasn't been an easy adjustment, and I know it's something we are both still figuring out and working on and adapting to. It's easy to turn on the TV and zone out. It's easy to have cereal and graham crackers for dinner when I'm "cooking" for one. It's easy to get caught up in students, schoolloop, and dictionary.com rather than sending a quick text or email to my husband. But, we're learning. To turn off the TV and pull out Scrabble. To cook and then re-heat chicken pasta with bell peppers. To walk for 7-11 hot chocolate at night. To run down to the beach in our sweats, even if it is 9:30, and laugh and race and kiss and trick Bailey into running in the surf:
They say it's important to appreciate life's little moments, jokes, intricacies. And I think Tim and I do a pretty good job of that. After all, it doesn't even take that much to make us happy, since eating McDonald's on the floor of an airport most definitely does the trick:
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