But I wasn’t being honest.  Not with him.  Not with my friends and family who would ask me about my job.  And, most importantly, not with myself.  I was reflexively lying. 

I was eating lunch with a friend a couple weeks ago when, after spending about 15 minutes explaining why I wasn’t happy at my job, another friend happened to stop by and ask how work was going.  My answer?  “Pretty good.”  I was immediately disappointed in myself for being so duplicitous.

Since then, I’ve been a lot more open about how I feel about work – especially with my boss.  I’m not sure how this is all going to end, but at least I feel better now that I’m just telling the truth.  The simple fact is that something has to change, because the status quo is not working.

Fortunately, many of S’s coworkers have the same mindset.  Together we have formed a loose band of “athletes” who engage in races, triathlons, and other physical endeavors.  Some of us are stronger, better, and faster than others, but we all enjoy the camaraderie and the health benefits.  Plus, we’re working on a massive collection of crappy race tee shirts.

My point is this: I’m glad we are involved in something healthy.  Sure, we still hit the bar or party scene from time to time, but it’s with a little less guilt knowing that we’re all going to have to get up and run (or whatever) the next day.  Rather than sacrificing fun for fitness, we’re doing both with gusto.

People I meet are frequently surprised by the fact that I am attorney.  For some reason, something about the way I act or the way I am causes people to formulate a preconceived notion that I belong in a profession other than lawyering.  This has happened so many times that I am beginning to think that “they” are right.  Maybe law isn’t for me.

Sometimes, confounding expectations is a bit more pleasant.  Several of S’s coworkers have discovered that I’m a bit more fun than I might appear at first glance.  Apparently I seem shy and laid back on the surface, so my outgoing nature takes them by surprise.  As a matter of fact, I’m far more “Type A” than most people expect and I tend to be high-strung.

1. Faith
2. My wife
3. My mom and sister (my father would be here if he was still alive)
4. My extended family
5. My closest friends
6. Good health
7. My other friends
8. Hobbies and recreational activities
9. Helping others
10. Sleep

As you can see, “my job” is not on this list.  I sincerely doubt it would make the top fifty, especially if I listed each of my hobbies separately.  I feel bad saying this, because I know many people are out of work and desperately want a job.  But the fact is, I don’t particularly like my job.  I don’t particularly dislike it, either.  I’m just indifferent.  Indeed, I liked my previous job as a retail sales manager much more, though it paid much less.

My career has never been as important to me as it should be.  I hear people talking about their love for the law and their dedication to it, but I don’t feel that way.  At least not today.  I worry that I’m squandering my time, my life, and my talent.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m surpassingly grateful that I’ve never had to go through such an ordeal.  Despite the bubble-gum-coated beat of the 60′s pop song, “breaking up” is, by all accounts, a crappy process.  As it turns out, I’ve been happily and exclusively dating/engaged to/married to the same woman for the past 12 years.  This, of course, is absolutely fine with me.

The only experiences I have with anything resembling “breaking up” are the turbulent endings of short but intense friendships.  I’m talking about people I met in college or law school, with whom I shared some common interests and many good times.  Unfortunately, time and distance have resulted in the slow, agonizing terminations of many of these friendships.  By extrapolation, I presume that the sadness I feel at the loss of these relationships is similar (within a few degrees) to the sadness one might feel at the end of a romantic fling.

But what do I know?  What are your experiences with breaking up?

I know you’re thinking I should just go to bed earlier.  Obviously, that notion has already occurred to me.  Timing isn’t the problem.  The problem is that I wake up in the middle of the night, usually as a result of free-floating anxiety, and I can’t get back to sleep.  I lie there, worried about whatever, trying to will myself into unconsciousness.  To give into the exhaustion.  To just, for the love of God, go back to sleep.  Then the frustration sets in, and it’s game over.  Might as well make some coffee.

I’ve had problems with insomnia before.  The worst was my senior year of undergrad.  I had trouble sleeping all four years of college, but that year I remember trudging through three-day stretches on four hours of sleep.  Four hours out of seventy-two!  I hope I’m not heading for that again.

As time marched on, however, the gifts got less and less frequent.  And it wasn’t just me.  She was bestowing fewer spontaneous surprises as well.  It reached a point where we wouldn’t get each other anything for mutual holidays like Valentine’s Day, but rather do something special together and call it our gift to each other.

I’ve recently rediscovered the fun that comes from unexpectedly giving someone something you know they’ll like.  It’s a nice little way of saying, “Hey, I was thinking of you today when I saw this.”

I think there is a natural tendency to be a little selfish.  That’s a problem, because relationships require a great deal of selflessness.  You really can’t take for granted the fact that someone knows you care about them.  Sometimes – many times –  you have to show it.

Plus, it’s fun for everyone involved.

Stuff to do at least once this summer:

-Visit GR (and eat at Yesterdog)
-Visit Grand Haven or Holland
-Kayak
-Bike a long trail
-Softball batting practice
-Go swimming
-Woodward Dream Cruise and/or other car show
-Go to a concert
-Go to Canada
-Visit [hometown]

Of the ten items on that list, we’ve managed to complete only one.  That’s a little disappointing, to say the least.  This is the sort of thing I think about every Monday morning before starting another work week.  The days are growing shorter, but the list isn’t.  And my patience is wearing thin.

I’m not saying summer hasn’t been full of delightful activities, because it has.  It’s just that I wish it were a little longer.

I’ve already mentioned that last weekend was incredibly fun.  What I didn’t mention is that I had to skip a family event, which in turn caused a minor rift between me and my mother.  I also omitted the fact that this weekend brought back memories of the same getaway from last year – a weekend that was considerably less fun for me for reasons that shall remain undisclosed (ooo… mysterious!).

I’ll have a good day at work, or a good week, followed by a bad one.  I’ll be looking forward to getting together with a friend later this week, and then find out that I won’t be able to join a group trip to Brazil later in the year.  There seems to be good news and bad news and nothing in between.

Of course, it’s possible that I’m just being overly sensitive.  I haven’t slept all that well lately, and life has been hectic (to say the least).  I can say one thing for sure, though.  The past few weeks have not been boring.

It was three days of five good friends doing only what seemed like the most fun at the time.  We spent about 95% of our time outdoors - swimming, kayaking, fishing, tossing a frisbee and hanging out by the fire.  Really we only ever went inside to cook and to sleep and to change into our swimsuits.  The weather was perfect, and I actually got a bit of a tan (finally).  We even caught enough fish for a sizable meal. 

(Side note: By “we” I mean “everyone else,” because I suck at fishing.  I got spiked by a 4″ blue gill and stabbed myself though the finger with a fish hook.  Yes, through my finger.)

From 1 p.m. on Friday afternoon through 1 a.m. Monday morning, I experienced 60 straight hours of happiness.  That is easily the best two-and-a-half day stretch of this summer.  And it didn’t even cost that much!

Part of me wishes every weekend could be like this: idyllic, restorative and full of good memories.  Therein lies the problem.  If every weekend were perfect, would any of them be memorable?  Probably not.

But I wouldn’t mind finding out.