Tomorrow we’ll meet friends and go for a walk on the beach. Then we’ll pack the kid’s school bag, eat our Sunday dinner, watch ‘The Hobbit’ (again) and go to bed.
And on Monday I’ll start working out my last month of employment before redundancy hits.
Am I scared? Shitless. Absolutely, totally, heart poundingly terrified.
Yet this has been the only holiday in the last 8 years when I haven’t checked my emails semi-obsessively every day, or snuck in a few hours of work of an evening when my son’s in bed. The first time in 8 years when I haven’t woken up in the middle of the night wondering if I’ve missed a deadline or left an important email unsent. The first time I’ve devoted 100% of my energy to playing with my kid and not letting work thoughts nag at 20% of my brain.
I’ve enjoyed my job but the last year or so has been an endless slog of reorganisation and uncertainty. I’m not angry I was made redundant, just angry and despondent about the political landscape that engendered it and that has devastated services for young people. At a time when youth unemployment stands at 1 million , support services that offer information, advice, guidance and sometimes just an adult who can listen and empathise are being swept away in breathtaking display of short-termism.
A part of me will be sad to move on and leave that self behind. But not as sad as I’ll be come Monday when normal service is resumed and we go back to the humdrum routine of the work/life imbalance.
Still, as one party ends there’s always a better one starting somewhere in the world – just up to me to get myself an invite.