The business cards had been sitting on a shelf in my closet. The checkbooks nestling in their plastic folder. Both office products assuming they could snooze for the long haul.
Unfortunately, the long haul turned out abruptly shorter than either of my left-over office supplies expected.
As I’ve written previously on this website, I recognized that my children, transformed from coddling in my care, were now being elevated to MY caretakers. Not physical. I am gratefully shallow on wear and tear. It’s the need called Money.
I know I’m not alone on my self-pity. I had fallen into the well and am awaiting Lassie or other first responders to rescue me. In my case, that would be my adult children.
But I’ve begun to realize that if I’m hauled out of the depth, I would be unrecognizable. Pitiful. Sullen. Accusatory. Drenched in my own disappointment. Is that me?
This morning, though, I awoke with a thought: instead of finding a cheaper apartment to cut expenses, instead of depending on my children for support, instead of embarrassing myself by crawling to my ex-spouse for help, I could resurrect my once successful Elaine Soloway Public Relations business, which I launched in 1980 at the age of 52.
And to bolster my plan, I did some research to learn if I was an outlier at my age or was I trending. An online search revealed I was hardly unique. According to the Feb. 27, 2024 US Census Bureau, “…the 80-plus worker is now becoming a recognized feature of the workforce. As reported by the Los Angeles Daily News, 650,000 Americans aged 80 and more are still working.
Not only was I trending, I realized that in the years since I hit snooze on my business, I had acquired new knowledge and experiences that could broaden my client base.
For example, let’s turn to my offspring. Through their successful TV production of “Transparent” and other recognitions of their own genders, I have become schooled in LGBTQ+ issues. A client attempting to write about this awakening -- that wasn’t so evident in my first go-around -- has become an important and emotional topic. I feel more competent than others not similarly schooled to advise clients.
And because I am active on Facebook, daily sharing three paragraphs from a roster of newsprint and Substacks, I have acquired journalist friends. In my previous life, I admit to being afraid to to phone potential reporters to attempt publicity for clients. Now, with their names and contact info in my address list, I’m plucky.
Of course, my greatest gift received over the years of my company’s absence, is my own aging. I speak Caregiving, Widowhood, Grief, Poverty, and other topics clients might find useful.
But before I put up a sign and turn on the lights, I must learn why I stopped my business. If I was successful enough to have mostly non-profit clients and good results that pleased them, why did I Ieave without the possibility of growing funds?
Let’s point the finger to wishful thinking. Instead of telling the stories, accomplishments, and needs of nonprofits, I wanted to tell my own. I wanted to be an author. Someone who envisioned me at the table of a bookstore. A stack of my latest memoir or nonfiction at my elbow. A line of friends and acolytes stretching from me to the door.
Without a business to oversee, I wrote four books: The Division Street Princess; Essays: Green Nails and Other Acts of Rebellion, Life After Loss; Bad Grandma and other tales of a life lived out loud; and a novel, She’s Not the Type.
Proudly I can report I did have readings and signings at prestigious book sellers in Chicago, Winnetka, and Los Angeles. What I didn’t have was money rolling in. Oh, there were bits and pieces I had to add to my income taxes, but not enough to pave a secure road ahead.
And then I found homes for essays: Facebook, The Washington Post, The Chicago Sun-Times, Chicago Tribune, and others.
And then there was Tommy. In 2010 or thereabouts, because this illness can be undetected for years, my second husband developed Frontal Temporal Dementia. Distraction from my own company, or working for others, was too challenging. Until Tommy died in 2018, I was his parent, caregiver, sweetheart, and security guard. Taking care of clients was unthinkable. And sadly, focusing on our draining finances couldn’t find an inroad.
I realize there are many others with stories like my own who manage to be caregivers and financially safe. Alas, I championed in one and lost in the other.
So now, with only my dog Doris to watch over, and the daily surprises aging brings, will I follow through on reviving my business? Or will I lose courage? No worries, I’m sure I’ll write about it.