Back to the Books

Is it delusional to go back to school at age 52? Is it naïve to re-enter the workforce at 54?

As I begin a two-year plan in hopes of working in conservation and restoration, these questions play on repeat in my mind. Whenever I think, Sure, this school-to-work thing is totally going to work out, it makes a rustling noise that disturbs my sleeping bear of doubt. My plan is not based on data or statistics. Only hope and grit.

A decade ago my husband and I came to the conclusion that, for our circumstances, it was unsustainable for both of us to be working while raising kids. After many conversations over orange meals of easy-peel clementines, bagged baby carrots, and boxed mac and cheese, we decided that maybe, for the time being, to catch our breaths, one of us should focus solely on the kids, allowing the other the relative freedom to pursue a career unfettered by the task of trying to convince a kindergartner to put on shoes before school.

At the time, this change was a palpable relief for everyone, a collective, better-rested sigh. Sick days were no longer a chaotic stresspool of who’d miss work to care for a feverish child. It was settled who’d plan, shop for, and prepare 21 meals a week. The family calendar was diligently managed and executed by the parent who had the one job of managing all the little jobs. (I can hear the “ums” of working mothers saying, Um, I still did all that. I see you! You’re amazing! I just couldn’t do it all, and we didn’t have family nearby for emergencies.)

Do I wish I could have worked alongside managing our home life? Be a glowing success at all things all the time? Of course. I would have felt like a more complete woman than ‘just a mom’. I would have been busy in ways more interesting than carpools and cooking. I would have been earning an income as a way to validate my intellectual capabilities that I feared were being buried under layers of bed-making bedrock.

When people asked what I did for a living, which was any time meeting new people, I’m not proud to say that I shrank and struggled with the right phrase. Stay-at-home mom seemed oppressive. Was I not allowed to venture into the wide world? Full-time parent seemed self-important. Did I really see it as a real job categorized as such? And, God forbid, Homemaker, a throwback to a time when this was the primary occupation for women. But honestly this was the best word for it. I made our home, every corner of it, every bite of it, every plant that grew around it.

I don’t regret our decision. It was the right thing to do for our family, and I hope my kids have recovered from my hovering. I can look back and know that at least I tried my best at this one thing. It did help that other families we knew had done the same, and that we were not alone in this seemingly old-fashioned arrangement.

But. It did chip away at my self-esteem. Throughout those years, but especially now. What do I put in that echoing white void on my resume in place of Manager or Director or VP? That I’m a decent cook, you should taste my vegan soups? That my garden is pollinator-friendly, you should see the bees? That I volunteer to save birds, and hey let’s go birding?

For the last few years I made it my full-time job to research just about every environmental topic that’s been studied or written about. My excel spreadsheet is robust and many-tabbed. The idea was to learn it all so that I could write a novel about saving the planet because I believe storytelling can be an effective way to inspire small and easy changes. My hope was that by the time our nest was empty, I’d be making a slight living as a writer. This has not panned out. Maybe I should have doubted harder, woken the bear to scare me sane.

The quick fix would be to find a job in marketing or project management, what I did before, and rather enjoyed. My brain is to organizing as an over-caffeinated micromanager is to managing. Given my gap in work, I’d probably have to start near the bottom, but at least I’d be earning a living.

The thing is, I’ve changed in the last decade, and so has our planet. Our marriage is still a working partnership, and my husband understands my drive to make a difference, to heal nature anywhere I can. To preserve it, restore it, rewild it. For the 47,000 species threatened with extinction because they have no voice, but also for the humans who need nature for everything – our food, livelihoods, our mental and physical health. And for the next generations of children who deserve to grow up on a planet with as much beauty and wonder as it was meant to have.

So I’m back in school learning the things I should have studied in college the first time around. Biology, Oceanography, Conservation, Restoration, Environmental Science. I’m grateful to be able to learn more so I can do more. Having this opportunity means I have a responsibility, whether I believe in myself or not.

Maybe it’s a little delusional to start over at my age, or maybe it’s never too late. What if I succeed and then others might do the same? There is much hope, but only with much work. Now back to the books.