For the last eight or nine years, I’ve worked from home. My cubicle has been my couch and the little desk in the corner of my kitchen, every bed in the house and finally a large, proper desk that my husband built for me last summer. For the most part, I’ve set my own hours and worked in my yoga pants. Only recently did I become un-self-employed and acquired pants with buttons. I work for “the man” again.

It’s been exhilarating. I love having coworkers to chat with, real adult human beings who tell me about their kids and their weekend plans. After years of piecing consulting work together, I now have a real, regular paycheck and the solidarity of a salary. I work for the school where my husband teaches and my kids go to second grade and preschool, so our life is wrapped up into a neat little package there, just five minutes away. This convenience is life-changing for a working mother. Most of all, I love the fact that every odd job I’ve done since graduating from college now makes sense. They’ve all twisted together to miraculously make me qualified for this new job.

But it’s been a bumpy ride. Any change, no matter how great, is a transition. I think about my blissful, horrible first year of marriage. My husband and I never loved or hated each other quite that way in the nine years since, as we adjusted together to the idea of marriage, started brand new jobs, and made a cross country move in one extraordinary month.

And here I stand again, this September, still struggling with a job that I started in June. I like the work. I am excited for my new projects. I am exhilarated by the hours I now have to get things done since my youngest is now in school. But…it’s the drama-rama that has me reeling. All those years working at home didn’t prepare me for working with people again. I’m used to working alone.

Now I have to depend on other people. I have my hands on their work; they have their hands on mine. When I mess up, people know about it. When other people mess up, it affects me. I work with a bunch of lovely, caring, fun, committed, passionate people. But we’re all people nonetheless. It’s in our very nature to screw up. Regularly. Like clockwork.

So for a person that’s used to the safe, mostly people-free zone of consulting work, this has been quite a shock to the system. I’m ashamed of it. I feel like I should be able to deal with it. I feel like it shouldn’t have been such a surprise. And it’s stressed me out and ruffled my feathers and made me very, very frustrated with myself and my coworkers. I need to take a chill pill.

But the thing is, as I stand here trying to figure it out…how to relate, how to let go, how to play nice…I know, I know it’s the best thing for me. It’s just hard, that’s all.

When I was a baby, my mom tells me I used to line up my bath toys on the side of the bathtub. Organized. Tidy. Controlled. Not much has changed for me. That’s who I am. I like things that way. I don’t like messes. They make me nervous, like something is wrong or things are out of control.

But people are messy. Life is messy. And I can sit there in my neat little one-person bathtub or I can put on some work clothes and go outside and play with people. One is neat and lonely. One is out of control, but much, much more fun…and hard…and lovely…and terrifying…and drama-filled…and just plain awesome.