On the advice of a friend, I joined the Newcomers Club a few days ago. It’s a social organization for English-speaking women, and they offer lots of helpful information on where to find English-speaking doctors, hairstylists, veterinarians, handymen, etc. They also host monthly coffees for expat wives (is that me? Am I really an “expat wife”?), and tours of museums and historical monuments around town.
They held an orientation for new members this morning. It was… eye-opening.
On one hand, the group was much more multicultural than I expected — I met women from Serbia, Finland, Morocco, Austria, Germany. (And that was just in my new member group.) Many were on their third or fourth international assignment, and one woman had just given birth a month ago, shortly after moving to Mexico without knowing a soul. Their strength astonished me, to be honest. The idea of moving every few years to an entirely new country and culture — not everyone can do that and succeed.
On the other hand, I felt strange. There I was in my Target blouse and Payless boots, while many of these ladies lived in huge homes in far-flung suburbs with live-in maids. I stood there silently while one group of women talked about whether or not to pay the maid on national holidays, and how with one’s first maid, it’s easy to be overly nice. (Apparently a no-no.)
Everyone was super friendly, and I tried hard not to judge, even as I coveted one woman’s Ferragamo scarf. Then I figured out what was really making me feel awkward — the idea that I’m not any different from them. I am a woman, a wife, living in Mexico off her husband’s income. He works during the day while I stay home. His company brought us here, not mine. His money pays the bills.
Granted, I plan to freelance and start some long-overdue writing projects, which will generate some extra cash. But I could fill three days a week with social activities if I wanted to. Going to coffees and lunches sounds fun, but deep down, it’s scary, because without a steady paycheck, what am I really worth anymore?
What makes me feel even guiltier is that I love not having a job. I love waking up every day and making the coffee, checking email, blogging, writing, researching freelance ideas, calling friends to have lunch, going to the tianguis and making hot, fresh veggie tacos for lunch. I love having time to run the house the way I like it — dishes cleaned, bed made, clutter tidied. I love having time to work out.
Now, if I can somehow figure out how to make those things as fulfilling as a full-time job, I would probably have a few less canas on my head.
…but deep down, it’s scary, because without a steady paycheck, what am I really worth anymore?…
Ahhh, Mija! The old dilemma! I’m many years older than you, and have had to come to terms with that problemita all over again now that I’m retired (from teaching Spanish to all the little Craytons at Randolph). I promise that you will figure it out sooner or later, probably about the time you start earning a steady paycheck again and realize that you didn’t get to do all the wonderful things you wanted to do while unemployed. Just relax, go with the flow, do a little of this and a little of that and remember that you are worth a lot more than a paycheck!
Lesley, don’t forget what we talked about at coffee! Enjoy this time. You will have many years to earn a paycheck. Relish these moments, these joyful times of foot massages in cabs and succulent meals of never-before-tasted cow parts. You are priceless and remember, these moments you have are part of your creative process.
I disagree. Jerry’s Dead and Phish Sucks. Get a job, hippie.
Just Kidding! Have a blast!