Baca Juga
The first time i felt the urge to run away from my life i was sitting on a mountain with my childern. It was sunny but windy and cool.
Maggie, then nine, and Evan, eight, were chasing each other around, clambering up boulders and rolling in the grass.
Far away from telephone and email, i felt peaceful in a way i hadn't for years. I felt close to the kids, safe. And i knew that they had for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the last eight days.
And then i heard a voice say ''Sarah, are you sure you want the life you lead, if you only get to enjoy your kids like this on holiday once a year?''
It was that thought that came out of the blue. And there were few problems, like a job, a laptop, mobile phone, two phones at home and two at works, a minivan, a university saving plan and one-hour commute.
I quickly regained my senses. Walking away from my job as editor of a large woman's magazine was unthinkable. I thrived on the busyness, the invigorating promise of getting a new blank canvas every month-writing headlines and cover lines, ploughing throungh manuscripts, striving to make the same old celebritis sound fascinating.
It was a great job, and leaving it would be a carrer suicide. The pratical, me said you'll never get a job like this one-ever.
So i did what adults are supposed to do, i told the voice, pipe down. People like me can't quit.
I shooed the kids down the mountain, and we headed home. A hectic spring give a way to a busy summer that streaked by a few trips to the beach, a handful of barbecues, camp for the kids.
But it was a lovely summer, and as it stretched on for another month, normally complaining New Yorkers happily about the remarkable weather, and the days sparkled, one day more beautiful than the text.
As i jumped into a taxi after my karate class on the morning of September 11, i remember thinking that this was the nicest day of all, cool, clear, with a brilliant sky and easy breeze, like that day on the mountain.
I closed my eyes and remembered Evan shouting ''Mum'' when he spotted some mountain goats climbing a hillside nearby.
''There was an accident at the Worl Trade Center'' the driver told me, turning up the radio, and we listened, with the rest of the world.
The next morning, i wathced my eight years old play in his bed, throwing one action figure on top of another into giant heap.
''What are you doing?'' i asked, still sleepy after watching CNN late into the night and feeling the images of those burning buildings seared into my mind.
Maggie, then nine, and Evan, eight, were chasing each other around, clambering up boulders and rolling in the grass.
Far away from telephone and email, i felt peaceful in a way i hadn't for years. I felt close to the kids, safe. And i knew that they had for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the last eight days.
And then i heard a voice say ''Sarah, are you sure you want the life you lead, if you only get to enjoy your kids like this on holiday once a year?''
It was that thought that came out of the blue. And there were few problems, like a job, a laptop, mobile phone, two phones at home and two at works, a minivan, a university saving plan and one-hour commute.
I quickly regained my senses. Walking away from my job as editor of a large woman's magazine was unthinkable. I thrived on the busyness, the invigorating promise of getting a new blank canvas every month-writing headlines and cover lines, ploughing throungh manuscripts, striving to make the same old celebritis sound fascinating.
It was a great job, and leaving it would be a carrer suicide. The pratical, me said you'll never get a job like this one-ever.
So i did what adults are supposed to do, i told the voice, pipe down. People like me can't quit.
I shooed the kids down the mountain, and we headed home. A hectic spring give a way to a busy summer that streaked by a few trips to the beach, a handful of barbecues, camp for the kids.
But it was a lovely summer, and as it stretched on for another month, normally complaining New Yorkers happily about the remarkable weather, and the days sparkled, one day more beautiful than the text.
As i jumped into a taxi after my karate class on the morning of September 11, i remember thinking that this was the nicest day of all, cool, clear, with a brilliant sky and easy breeze, like that day on the mountain.
I closed my eyes and remembered Evan shouting ''Mum'' when he spotted some mountain goats climbing a hillside nearby.
''There was an accident at the Worl Trade Center'' the driver told me, turning up the radio, and we listened, with the rest of the world.
The next morning, i wathced my eight years old play in his bed, throwing one action figure on top of another into giant heap.
''What are you doing?'' i asked, still sleepy after watching CNN late into the night and feeling the images of those burning buildings seared into my mind.
Trading Places
4/
5
Oleh
Unknown
