Working To Live. Not Living To Work.

There is a statement that I am striving to live by. Not anything profound. Just a simple statement - a proclamation if you will. Its directed towards an assortment of people, but really mostly a reminder to myself.
"You have me for fifty hours a week, every week. You can't have any more of my life than that."
Simple. Not even a little bit eloquent. Just a statement. But I have to repeat it to myself when i'm lying in bed answering emails that are not necessarily urgent at 11:30 at night. Damn Blackberry.
Why do we put so much emphasis on our careers? Is it that important? Is the 9-5 (or 9-6) really what makes life worthwhile? The fact is that it's not just 9-5 because most people struggle with the same thing I struggle with - bringing my work home. I do it. My hubs-to-be does it. And really? It's like a virus seeping into every other area of life. At work - you're working. At home - you're thinking about what needs to be done, or should be done, or can't be done. At social gatherings - you talk about work. Enough! Is my life outside of work so devoid of excitement that work is the only thing I can discuss?
I suppose it sounds like I resent my j0b. I don't! I am fortunate to have an incredible job with awesome clients and amazing perks. But the fact is that I, like most people am doing a job far beyond my level of title or salary. Here we are in an economic crisis, with layoffs around the corner and I know better than to open my mouth and ask for a raise, but the fact is that I am doing the work that people making almost double what I make are doing. And it's unfair, and it makes me have to search pretty deep to find some motivation. But there's nothing to be done about it right now, so I keep my mouth shut and my fingers typing.
When I was up North doing my dream job, it truly was my life. Hubs-to-be was still down here working on his career. My friends up North were all doing the same job I was in the same company, so we really enabled one another to work constantly. And - I loved it. I was passionate about it. I didn't even mind that I was paid so poorly that it was hard to make ends meet. Deciding to leave gave me a chance to learn a very important lesson. An opportunity to really put life into perspective. - When I die; which could be today or 75 years from now, how do I want people to remember me? Do I want to be remembered as an all-star at my job? Someone who dedicated all of her time to making money and getting ahead? No. That's all superficial and frankly, it would mean I hadn't left the world any better than I found it.
I want to be remembered as someone who would do anything for the people she loved. Someone who had an incredible zest for life and experiences and people. When I die, I don't care if people don't even remember what I did for a job. I want to be remembered as a friend, a daughter, a sister, a wife, a mom. Not as someone with an impressive words-per-minute speed and a loaded bank account.
In conclusion, I suppose this is part of my journey. Finding a balance. Weighing my priorities, because the fact is; I have to work. The bills will keep coming, and one thing I know for certain; they aren't going to pay themselves. Oh the irony...