OK, forgive the retro mindset for a moment. I am coming off a workday in which I have been ignored, insulted and dismissed, rendering me quite angry and feeling quite useless. I am a writer, and I write for an office professionally. Unfortunately, everyone thinks that because they can type that they can write. So I get work yanked out from under me all the time. All I want is a second chance to make it right if it doesn't look so good the first time. Grrr.
This episode had me fantasizing and no doubt romanticizing the role of housewife. I imagined myself making really excellent meals for my husband--shopping for healthy, tasty ingredients and having a real menu--with side dishes or even a nice little dessert thought out. I love to cook, so it's easy to think of this as the fun part. But even keeping the laundry clean and off the floors, the house and garden clean and even beautiful--these domestic responsibilities sometimes appeal to me on days like the one I had today--because I imagine that all that work would go toward something
I cared about, something my husband cared about--good food, a comfortable home--and not toward bosses and an organization that doesn't think enough of me to come to me when something needs to be revised or reworked. Why give my energies to people who really don't care for me in the same way my husband cares for me?
I suppose my fantasy hinges on the ability of people not to become complacent, not to take energies spent and comforts provided for granted. Is that possible? Or is it inevitably that our human nature will begin to get used to such a way of life as to believe it has always been there and always should? My guess is that it probably is so. Which renders the above romantic ideas slightly tarnished.
Still, I'd love to sit down with housewives from every era and interview them, get their take on how they feel about the domestic arts. Did they feel appreciated? Did they get bored? For those that left their jobs, did they regret their decision? What advice would they give knowing what they know now? I know it's hopelessly old-fashioned, but doing work for someone you love sounds so much better to me than doing work for people you tolerate.
Of course, I also enjoy the idea of being left alone with my thoughts--I am, after all a writer, who loves reflection and spending time in her head, and while I enjoy socializing with my friends, I abhor participating in small talk with people I am thrown, arbitrarily, in an office with. (The exception, which I don't know how housewives deal with the absence of, are the people who I meet at work and truly enjoy talking to--the people who start as co-workers and become friends.) And I suppose the small talk is excellent research for characters, which is often what I'm thinking about when I nod my head in sympathy or agreement.
Being a romanticized, appreciated housewife appeals to me because I believe I'd have time to myself--time, when the laundry was getting done to read a bit, or write--without the worry of intrusion from the bundle of neuroses in the cube next door.
But the question remains--is there any truth in this daydream, or is desperation what you find upon waking up?
I suppose one other path remains--finding the job in which you are appreciated. A job where your contributions are noted, where your energies go toward something worthwhile, where you are rarely if ever taken for granted. I wonder...is this a fantasy too? Or do such jobs exist?
And these thoughts are all taking place in the absence of children. I'm not even considering the layers of nuance and complexity that a child adds to the internal struggle. Women are such amazing, thoughtful, energetic human beings--I'm so very glad to be a woman, but I do think these traits add to our burden. We are capable of so much, and so we try to do it all. But is doing it all healthy? And if we must cut back to retain our sanity, how do we choose?
And, perhaps more importantly, how can society better help us carry our valuable load?
