![]() ![]() Nearly all of the time, too, I felt lonely. At other times, I simply felt exhausted-working while the children napped, which meant that I was desperate for the children to nap, and also working in the hours after the children went to bed, often into the early morning. At times-most often when I was out on a mid-morning run around Prospect Park with the baby in a stroller-I felt that I was getting away with something, as though I were playing hooky. Instead of shuttling on a packed train to and from an office in Manhattan, I sat with a napping baby on my lap and listened to Music Has the Right to Children or Music for 18 Musicians (whether to calm the baby or myself, I am no longer certain) while I wrote multiple-choice questions or reviewed pages or did whatever editorial piecework was due next. Sometime within the next two years, during which I gave birth to my older child, I began to tell myself a story about how I had “dropped out”-a story that made sense out of the disconnection I felt from the daily churn of the regular workaday world, in which I had participated for more than a decade. ![]() ![]() Fourteen years ago I left my editorial job at a publicly traded company and began life as a freelancer. ![]()
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