Thursday, December 18, 2008

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Mix equal parts gin, walnut cream sauce, and good friends. Garnish with sleep deprivation. Shake well. Serve over Dean Martin Christmas music.

This delightful little concoction will knock you on your ass and make you wish you had a sugardaddy instead of a job at work the next day. Trust me.

Fascinating conversation though. The trials and errors of finding one's soul mate are one of my favorite topics, one that often pops up if you hang out with lots of 28-year-old single women, which i do. Last night's convo had a twist though.

There we were...three slightly toasted souls just trying to make sense of it all. The one thing we had in common was that we all came from long legacies of hereditary soulmating. What i mean is that all of our parents, grandparents, and for all we know Neanderthal ancestors, had found a life partner to love wholeheartedly and depend on really, truly forever. We had all seen it. We would all recognize it if it happened to us. Because we had been witness to it in our own families, we would accept nothing less than the genuine, the certified, the absolute real thing.


My grandparents ages ago.

This is cause for some concern. What if the kind of love and commitment we've seen doesn't even exist anymore? What if it just went away like dinosaurs or Vanilla Ice? What if expectations, roles, and responsibilities are just different now? What if the whole thing was a sham set up by our relatives to confuse us? Perhaps they thought it would be funny to watch us constantly search for love like a mouse in a mirror maze. Yeah, hilarious.
My grandparents after 50 years of marriage.

I'm clearly blessed to have had such amazing relationship role models. But, have they ruined me for the reality of modern dating? It is entirely possible that the ideal has become an impossibility and that pickiness will be my downfall. But, i'm not entirely convinced that pickiness is my problem. Hand in hand with my mid-week drinking partners, settling is simply not an option. My friend made a very valid point..."I'm not even able to BE picky. There aren't even any losers around to turn down."

Fair enough.

My two lovely companions, let's hope that our genetic pre-disposition for successful relationships doesn't end up being some kind of auto-immune deficiency. Let's not give up on history quite yet. It can be done after all. We've seen it.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Optimism

After a big, nice glass of Spanish red and some yogic breathing, i came up with some reasons why this job isn't so bad:

1. They promise to move me to an office next summer that isn't 900 degrees and doesn't smell like a stale, old piece of toast.

2. I can work independently (sometimes from my home). If i do come to the office, i can wear my headphones the whole time. There are hardly any meetings.

3. My boss seems really nice.

4. They have lots of free food in the office (including popsicles and string cheese).

5. My commute is 6 minutes on foot.

Bigggggg Deeeeeeep Breeaaaaath.

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Billable Hours

I’m feeling a bit nostalgic. I miss my old job. Not the situation that I left, but the day to day, the challenge, the way it was. I miss my friends and my boss. I miss feeling busy with work I liked and I miss feeling that my job was cool and did good for the world.

A few weeks ago, I was at an online marketing conference, this time as a vendor instead of a client. I sat in several sessions that used screenshots of my former projects as examples of kick-ass online marketing. On the one hand, it made me proud of the work we did at my last job. On the other hand, I felt a deep sadness that those days ended before I wanted them to. Next slide please. My days of making an impact and saving the world…of awards, magazine covers, and speaking invitations are over.

This weekend, I went with my beau to his holiday party. Everyone was happy and I could tell that not only did they enjoy each other but also enjoy the work they do. I went in the bathroom, my usual spot to go when I’ve had too much to drink and am feeling sorry for myself, to do some deep breathing and get organized. In those situations, I look in the mirror and talk to myself, usually in a stern, no bull-shit tone of voice. This time I said, “You are not your job.”

The person in the mirror nodded in agreement.

But, I’m feeling sorry for myself again today. Although I feel lucky to have any job at all, this one just isn’t doing it for me. I can’t seem to get over the lingering feeling that actually “I am my job. I am what I do for most of my time.” For me, my career is part of my identity. And, I’m having one hell of a time line-iteming my identity on a billable hours worksheet.

I used to think I could live on the age-old principle of getting the paycheck so that you can have fun with it after work. But if you don’t feel like having fun after work or if there isn’t any time left in the day to have fun, what’s the point of it all?!

I really do want this job to work out, but that terrifying feeling of boredom is creeping up and making me want to cry. And I always promised myself that when I start crying at my desk, it is time to move on.

Short of botoxing my tear ducts, what have I got?

I’ve got a brain that works.
I’ve got friends and family and a dog who love me.
I’ve got a sewing machine.
I’ve got some sweet potato gnocchi.
I’ve got choices and opportunity.
I’ve got courage and creativity.

Looks like all that is missing is patience. Not terrible, right? With all those things, surely I’ll pull this job thing together. Patience aside, let’s hope it is soon. I don’t know if this new job stocks Kleenex.