Making Excuses

I don’t like making excuses. I mean, we all do it sometimes, but when people do it often or most of the time, it drives me nuts.

Short drive, I know.

But making excuses to cover an action or repeated behavior isn’t pretty. Yet here I am, about to flood this post with excuses. And it ticks me off.

Next month will be the 30th anniversary of the start of my career as a barber. It’s been a wild ride, to say the least. And yet not so wild, in that I’ve been stable and self-employed for decades. Many in the beauty industry are very transient and can’t handle their own finances, much less those of a small business. Now, that’s no slam, it is just a truth about the majority of creative folks. It’s part of their charm. And our industry is chock full of charming people.

We’re a really great bunch.

But 30 years has had its way, and it’s time for some things to adjust just a little. Or a lot. I’m not sure.

Over the course of my career – and I still can’t believe I’m saying it’s been 30 years – I’ve worked my fingers and feet to the bones. Most years I put in more than 40 hours a week behind the chair, no lunch breaks, only weekend vacations, no sick days off (save for the few times I had surgery, and the excruciatingly long maternity leave), and bending over backwards to accommodate my clients’ schedules to keep them happy. I took everyone who came through the door. Early mornings, late nights, going until I couldn’t go any more. Even when I commuted three hours to work, I still worked 36 hours a week and grew my business and income each year.

Mama was tired.

Mama is tired.

I wholeheartedly acknowledge that I am no exception to the rule. Our industry is overflowing with hard workers. We don’t eat, pee, or slow down for hours and hours on end. And unless you’ve ever lived and died by an appointment book, I don’t expect you to fully appreciate how it is. And that’s ok. I’m happy for you that you haven’t had to experience it all. And I’m happy for me that I have. I’m built for work.

My parents instilled in my sister and me such a strong work ethic. I never saw my parents call out from work, not go the extra mile, not be first one in and last one out, not respect the boss, not “dress for success,” not be the best at what they did. A high bar they definitely set. I hope they think I’ve come close to meeting it in some way.

So working the long days, going the extra mile, making my schedule conducive to everyone else’s, growing a business to support my family, just seemed a most natural thing to do. I’ve probably neglected some things, people, and places, over the years because of my job, but I never neglected having the finances to pay the bills and hopefully teach my kid how hustling works.

But, Mama was tired.

Mama is tired.

When I met The Lawyer, I was still killing it at work. Single and learning that I could, in fact, pay bills and finally save some money, too, and keep a business afloat and get my kid through college. I was still barely young enough to not quite fall apart yet, and physically in the best shape of my life. But then things started to slowly change. I was no longer in a position which required me hauling the load, so to speak. I found a partner who began to shift my perspective on life and work and roles and responsibilities.

I could finally breathe.

Mind you, this was in no way a free pass. So many of my clients asked/assumed I’d be quiting my job because I was marrying a successful attorney. Ppppfffftttt. Mama is smarter than that. This man was not taking me to raise. No, this man was nurturing my gifts instead of taking advantage of them, seeing that it was taking its toll and then offering me relief. Setting me up for the greatest success as I head into the final fifteen years.

It’s been an emotional transition.

When going strong and hard is what you do, backing off of that isn’t easy. Making the decision to do so came with many tears and much internal struggle. But he got me there with love and patience. And I’m so thankful. I backed my schedule down to a manageable level, at least for awhile. Though without noticing, I allowed it to grow again to an almost unmanageable level, which finally caught up to me at the orthopedist’s office. A lovely shot in the elbow. May as well have been a shot in the heart.

But now I’m at that same emotional crossroads again. Only this time it’s not as much me making the decision as it is my body. And I’m ticked off. The pace needs to slow down, and I’m not happy about it. I’ve spent 30 years honing my clientele to be the smoothest, loveliest, funnest, most interesting, loving, happiest clientele on the planet, and I don’t want to let that go. So the transition is going to take some time. I hope I can hold out.

Folks move away, pass away, and sometimes just go away for whatever reason, and you have to be ok with that when you operate in a people industry. People do what people do and you have to learn to adapt and not take it too personally. Often easier said than done, but still gets done. If you can part ways as friends, but still part ways, it’s all ok. I know there have been a few that have left me and been upset with me, but I can’t cry over that spilt milk, and one day hope to make amends. Outside of that, the ebb and flow of people businesses is quite unique, and right now I need it to unique its way into my world.

I don’t have plans of “firing” anyone, and I truly don’t want to have anyone leave me, but I need relief, and I’m not sure how it’s going to come. Well, that’s a lie. I do know how it’s going to come. Through self-control, discipline, inner strength, and probably lots of tears. The painful thumb, the angry elbow tendon, the bulging neck discs, the previously broken yet still angry foot, and now the torn shoulder labrum have pushed me over the edge into needing to – no, having to – cut my hours back. The hardest part will be the self-control, discipline, and inner strength to not schedule folks outside of the hours I’ve set for myself. The easiest part will be the tears. Always is.

And I dread it.

But back to the ‘making excuses’ part. I feel like that’s all I’m doing. Making excuses. It sounds weak. Sounds like I’m trying to get out of something. Sounds like I don’t want to work. Sounds like I’m lazy. Sounds like I’m giving up. Sounds like I’m neglecting my family. Sounds like I’ve already given up.

Somebody talk me down off this ledge.

Rationally I know all of that is not true. I’m still going to make a very nice living. Still work hard. Still meet my responsibilities. Still put my heart and soul into every minute of every day. I mean, my gosh, for the last handful of years I’ve been hearing myself say, “I want to work at least until I’m 70, I just want to work fewer hours than I do now.”

Well, here I am.

I didn’t know it was going to be so tough to accomplish that.

I think maybe – probably – it’s because I’m not choosing to make the decision. It’s being chosen for me. But I also know I wouldn’t be making this decision at all unless it were forced upon me. And I think what is most scary is that it’s scary. Fear of the unknown is gripping me, and I don’t enjoy that. Somebody make me an appointment with my counselor, would ya?

That’s enough complaining for one day. Thanks for letting me have this little therapy session. And feel free to ask me if I’m sticking to my abbreviated schedule next time you see me. You’ll know by the look on my face, the roll of my eyes, if I am in fact sticking to my abbreviated schedule. Best of luck to us all on that one.