I've walked around slightly elated for the last two days, listening to music on the ipod (rather than podcasts) and knowing why I'd lost some sabbatical enthusiasm. Guilt. I was carrying around a lot of guilt about the decision to leave the job--specifically guilt over the obligation to the two men in my work life: TR and Larry.
I wanted to write immediately, the instant I told TR, but I didn't. I'm not sure why it reminds of the night I went out, alone, for a drink to celebrate the completion of my PhD (I had a party later, but this was the day I got the final word and knew it was 100% done). I wanted to buy a round for the bar, but I was too shy to do it.
I was too shy to write that I told TR I wanted time off and got the best possible reaction: dismay, bewilderment, acceptance, understanding, encouragement and appreciation. It couldn't have gone much better if I planned it, which, despite non-stop mulling, I hadn't actually done. Well, I did plan, but I didn't script, so I wasn't sure how, exactly I would convey the message, "it's not you, it's me." Because even though it is, sort of, TR, that's not at all the point.
I was in there on Tuesday, talking to TR about something (probably condo stuff), as is my won't. I wasn't planning on telling him then, but I was nervous, anxious and feeling the burden of my secret. So I said, "Are you working on anything important?"
He said, "No."
I said, "I need to talk to you about something."
TR said, "Should we close the door?" I was already on my way there.
I assured him it had nothing to do with Mandy (that situation is resolved). I said, "I've been unhappy with the job for a long time. I need to take some time off to pursue personal interests. I also need the job to change. I'm not giving it my best and I'm not happy about that. I'm also not happy about how we get along, but that's not the real issue." And on like that.
TR listened, nodded and said, "I'm the right person to talk to about taking a leave!" Since he, early in his career, left our department and came back a few years later. We also talked about what other kind of work I could do around here, if I should move to a different division, or even work on detail for another organization for a while. It was good. It was clear that he values me and wants me to come back. He seemed to understand. He made a joke about me writing the "great American novel." I said, "I may or may not actually write a novel, but I want to try."
Obviously, I don't need to quit my job or take time off to write a novel. But I need to take time off. I don't care if I don't do any writing at all! That's the idea--to write. But the real idea is to get away from here and have some different experiences. To get out of the DC routine and into another, novel (heh), routine. Hell, if I spend most of my time reading novels and going to the movies I'll consider it a well-spent six-to-twelve months, but, yes, I plan to write too.
TR is gone for the rest of the week (traveling for work) and has left me in charge. Oh, irony, how I love thee.
The next day, Larry (old boss), came by and stood in my office door. Looking at me, silently. Finally, he said, "TR told me you wanted to take some time off...I don't know what to say."
I said, "Um, yeah, um. I...I don't know what to say..."
He said, "No, you don't have to talk about it..."
I said, "No! I want to...I just. I wanted to talk to you about it. I just need some time away."
He said, "You're really good at this."
I said, "But I'm not engaged any more. I can't make deadlines. I like to think that I still do good quality work, but there's really no excuse for how long it takes me to finish things."
Larry nodded grimly. We talked a while longer but he never stopped looking lost and unhappy. You should have seen the expression on his face. So sad! I swear, I thought he might cry.
I tell you what, it makes me extremely grateful that TR is now my "boss." (He's not the boss of me!) I don't think I could have quit on Larry, ever. We have such a tight boss-worker bond. I don't think I'll ever feel that way about someone again and perhaps it's just as well. It's part of why there's so much emotion around this decision. As I said to Larry, it's not just a job. It's my only job. It's the only real, professional job I've ever had and I have a lot of identity tied up with it. My job goes a long way towards identifying me to other people, if not to myself, and even when I've hated it, I've managed to give a good impression about it to the outside world. Many people think I love my job. I've convinced many others that it's important. I don't know that it isn't. I do know that it's sucking the life out of me and I have to get out--at least for a while.
I want to write some more about work, career choices and the boxes we put ourselves in, but that will have to wait until tomorrow because I'm going to a g-ddamn happy hour now if it kills me.
Grateful for: TR. Who knew?
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Working for pay
My college thesis advisor (Joanna Russ, a feminist science fiction writer) told me that she thought that stories about working life were notably absent from fiction. She said there were great stories that no one had told yet and it was surprising because so much life, especially American life, is spent working. In most fiction, working life is on the sidelines or relegated to a mere plot point: it’s not the meat of the story. (Exceptions abound but the main point is valid.)
I’m not writing a novel about work but ever since she made that remark, I keep my eyes open for good stories about work. Blogs, of course, are great sources, but most of us take pains not to write about our current working life for fear of retribution. However, what about our work history? Mine, interestingly enough, has relatively little to do with my current position, so I can get right into it.
Aside: as I’m writing this, I realize that I wrote a dissertation that was sort of about “working for pay." “Working for pay” was my dependent variable (outcome of interest) and it was merely a quantitative measurement of how much, or if, the person had worked for pay in a given year. I didn’t study types of jobs or pay or benefits or anything like that. Sort of funny, though, to have written a dissertation on a topic about which I know very little. To clarify, my main focus was on one particular independent (predictor) variable and how it influenced work, not actually on work. Oh, and we say “working for pay” because working inside the home is work too, but not what I was measuring.
Being a good American, possessed of a strong Protestant work ethic (even though I’m Jewish), I was interested in earning money from a very young age. Childcare was my chosen field. I liked kids and overestimated my ability to wrangle them. At age three I appointed myself overseer of a two-year-old and tried to feed her a peanut butter sandwich for lunch. She refused. I picked her up with the intention of carrying her to the sandwich. She bawled. My first attempt at babysitting was a failure.
My first successful babysitting gig was several years later when, at age eight, I watched a three-year-old while our parents looked on. His mother was very pleased with me and gave me a quarter. I showed it to my mom. She was proud of me and taped the quarter to a piece of paper and wrote, “[Jamy’s] first quarter earned.”
My first legitimate babysitting job was right here in Washington D.C. when I was 12. The family lived a few blocks from my house in Mt. Pleasant and they hired me to watch their two-year-old son for the evening. My mom took me over and met the parents. I was to call her if there were problems. The kid was awake but his parents put him to bed after I arrived and then they left.
After the parents were gone, the kid started making some noises. Not crying noises, talking noises. But he didn’t speak any language I could understand. I went into his room and tried to figure out what he wanted. He kept saying the same word over and over, “Arsh! Arsh! Arsh!”
What was “arsh?” I held up a stuffed animal. Nope, not arsh. Another toy. Nope. I held up everything in the room that seemed like something he’d want to sleep with but nothing stopped his calls for “arsh.”
I took him out of the crib and we played on the floor in his room for a little while. He got sleepy and I put him back to bed. He slept this time and I spent the rest of the evening watching tv.
When the parents got home I told them about “arsh.”
“Oh!” the mom said, “His cars! He likes to sleep with those little cars. Sorry, I should have told you.”
“Ah, well, I couldn’t understand what he was saying.”
“It’s fine.”
It didn't occur to me that any kid would want to sleep with hard little metal cars. But when I played with him on the bedroom floor—it was with those little toy cars. Live and learn.
This puts me in mind of many other amusing babysitting stories. Hrm. I can either tell all of those or figure out what the next non-babysitting job was. Decisions, decisions.
Last and unrelated: don't forget to VOTE. I got three reminder calls to vote: one from Mayor Fenty, one from a computer voice and one from Michelle Obama. Guess who they were rooting for?
Grateful for: the right to work and vote.
I’m not writing a novel about work but ever since she made that remark, I keep my eyes open for good stories about work. Blogs, of course, are great sources, but most of us take pains not to write about our current working life for fear of retribution. However, what about our work history? Mine, interestingly enough, has relatively little to do with my current position, so I can get right into it.
Aside: as I’m writing this, I realize that I wrote a dissertation that was sort of about “working for pay." “Working for pay” was my dependent variable (outcome of interest) and it was merely a quantitative measurement of how much, or if, the person had worked for pay in a given year. I didn’t study types of jobs or pay or benefits or anything like that. Sort of funny, though, to have written a dissertation on a topic about which I know very little. To clarify, my main focus was on one particular independent (predictor) variable and how it influenced work, not actually on work. Oh, and we say “working for pay” because working inside the home is work too, but not what I was measuring.
Being a good American, possessed of a strong Protestant work ethic (even though I’m Jewish), I was interested in earning money from a very young age. Childcare was my chosen field. I liked kids and overestimated my ability to wrangle them. At age three I appointed myself overseer of a two-year-old and tried to feed her a peanut butter sandwich for lunch. She refused. I picked her up with the intention of carrying her to the sandwich. She bawled. My first attempt at babysitting was a failure.
My first successful babysitting gig was several years later when, at age eight, I watched a three-year-old while our parents looked on. His mother was very pleased with me and gave me a quarter. I showed it to my mom. She was proud of me and taped the quarter to a piece of paper and wrote, “[Jamy’s] first quarter earned.”
My first legitimate babysitting job was right here in Washington D.C. when I was 12. The family lived a few blocks from my house in Mt. Pleasant and they hired me to watch their two-year-old son for the evening. My mom took me over and met the parents. I was to call her if there were problems. The kid was awake but his parents put him to bed after I arrived and then they left.
After the parents were gone, the kid started making some noises. Not crying noises, talking noises. But he didn’t speak any language I could understand. I went into his room and tried to figure out what he wanted. He kept saying the same word over and over, “Arsh! Arsh! Arsh!”
What was “arsh?” I held up a stuffed animal. Nope, not arsh. Another toy. Nope. I held up everything in the room that seemed like something he’d want to sleep with but nothing stopped his calls for “arsh.”
I took him out of the crib and we played on the floor in his room for a little while. He got sleepy and I put him back to bed. He slept this time and I spent the rest of the evening watching tv.
When the parents got home I told them about “arsh.”
“Oh!” the mom said, “His cars! He likes to sleep with those little cars. Sorry, I should have told you.”
“Ah, well, I couldn’t understand what he was saying.”
“It’s fine.”
It didn't occur to me that any kid would want to sleep with hard little metal cars. But when I played with him on the bedroom floor—it was with those little toy cars. Live and learn.
This puts me in mind of many other amusing babysitting stories. Hrm. I can either tell all of those or figure out what the next non-babysitting job was. Decisions, decisions.
Last and unrelated: don't forget to VOTE. I got three reminder calls to vote: one from Mayor Fenty, one from a computer voice and one from Michelle Obama. Guess who they were rooting for?
Grateful for: the right to work and vote.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Mini-stories
Dancing
I missed the first class in my series of eight lessons but I took the second class and was just fine. I've taken quite a few swing dance classes with the same instructors and I know a lot of the material. I was hoping that I'd be familiar with the material from first class and I was. I was relaxed and easy. I practiced my "smile at everyone" technique and everyone was very friendly. It's easy and it works.
The male-to-female ratio was perfect but the nerd quotient was high. Very high. I had a good time but left early. I was still tired from staying home sick most of the previous week. I'm looking forward to the next lesson.
No-show
Sue me, I skipped ushering. There's only so much a body can do.
Mega-fan
On Thursday, I went to my volunteer gig (reading to kids) after the second day of my conference. I had to plan the evening's activities, which I found a bit overwhelming in conception. However, the execution went rather well. We had fewer kids than last time, so fewer disruptions. We knew all the kids from last time, which meant everyone was more comfortable. The kids liked the books and the activity. I learned: I can plan an arts and crafts activity. My main principle: keep it simple, stupid. It worked.
After the volunteering, I hightailed it to Arlington to watch football with Pele and her boyfriend. No offense, Pele, but I know why the BF doesn't have people over more often—that place is a mess! However, I didn't care because the tv was HUGE and the couch was comfortable. Pele even ordered dinner for me! And the BF picked it up! He can keep that place as messy as he likes and it won't bother me one bit.
Finally, finally, the Redskins won. It was a relief. Pele told the BF that I'm a mega fan. He is a long time fan himself. I demurred and saying that following a team faithfully for one season does not make a mega fan. (Though I actually watched quite a few games last year.) He was amused. Me too.
No sale
On Friday, I was too lazy to go to the blogger happy hour—or was I too drunk? Probably both. I was also invited to a cocktail party at a neighbor's house. This was, in fact, a "sales" party at TR's house, organized by his wife. For the first part of the evening, TR was out with the kids and we ladies ate and drank and then listened to a sales pitch for high-end skin care products. I'm sure the products were all excellent but I just couldn't deal with it (i.e., buy anything). When TR eventually joined us, then retired to the kitchen to wash dishes, I followed him. We talked about work and football. A lot about football. TR asked my opinion about football. Bizarre.
Aside: I've been thinking a lot about the meaning of sport and why so many of us are attached to watching. First, I think it signals an ability to identify with something outside of oneself and the desire to be part of something larger than oneself. It's foolish, sure, but deeply meaningful. Second, it is about the best source of small talk ever! Yay sports!
Humorous epilogue: guess who spent $100 on high end skin care products at L'Occitane en Provence on Monday? (Shampoo, conditioner, toner, body wash and a present for Mom.) My usual source for such products (with the exception of the present) is the drug store and very occasionally the hair salon. I am a paradox.
Par-tay
On Saturday, I ended up with two party invites. One to the "party of mystery" and another from a work acquaintance. I spent most of the day hanging around the house slowly cleaning, knitting and watching dvds. I picked up my Seattle friend, Amanda, and her fiancé up from the airport around 7pm and took them home. We hung out for a while, but, as planned, I left for my parties around 9pm. (My exchange with Amanda about this went something like this:
Me: I feel bad taking you home and then just leaving you there.
Amanda: What, you don't trust us alone at your place?
Me: No! I feel like a bad host.
Amanda: Don't be silly.)
I drove to Arlington, to the work-acquaintance party. I was flying solo, but that was fine since I knew people where I was going. Upon arrival, I was greeted with a party of five (including me). Work friends, Nina, Danielle and Deirdre and the host, Bill, were the only other guests. I can't explain why, but I stayed there for the rest of the evening. I get along great with Bill, well with Danielle and so-so with Nina and Deirdre. Yet, Nina is my actual friend from this group. I can explain, but it's tiresome. I had a sufficiently entertaining time. Then I went home.
Brunchy
On Sunday morning, I took Amanda and her fiancé to Arlington (popular place!) to meet Amanda's brother for brunch. I joined them and it was fun. It's been years since I've seen Amanda's brother and I got to meet his kids too. After brunch and a little shopping, we parted ways. I let Amanda borrow the car for a couple days since she is also visiting friends in Baltimore and Annapolis. She'll come back to my place tonight—we're going to dinner. Hope she's enjoying driving the camper. Heh.
Wrap-up
This week is busy too. Last night, I went to a staged-reading of my playwright friend's newest play. Great, just as expected. Tonight, Amanda is staying with me. Tomorrow, I bake brownies. Thursday, I will probably skip a happy hour. Friday is our office party, at TR's place, which means a short day. Saturday, I drive to PA for a memorial service. Sunday, I drive home. Blah. I'm tired already.
Last week, as I mentioned, I sat in a conference for two days. I found it interesting and useful. About halfway through the second day, though, I started to fade. I started doodling and writing. I put my mind to an idea for a novel. Somehow, the background of a power point presentation is conducive to creativity. Perhaps it's because it doesn't insistently demand my attention like television.
What's great is that I came up with what might be a reasonable structure for a novel I would enjoy writing. It will be heavily (mostly) autobiographical, but it will be presented as fiction. That way I can fill in where I can't remember the actual events and dialog and I can drop/combine/create characters as needed. Plus, I have a gimmick. I've already written some unknown proportion of the novel via the blog, though the blog will not be part of the novel.
The real question is: when am I going to write this novel? And, I suppose, do I really want to write this novel? It used to be that when I got home, I set myself up with the computer and typed away while I watched tv. Now, I combine knitting with my tv watching and do very little writing at home or on the weekends. The knitting is deeply satisfying. The process is pleasurable and having something to show for it is awesome.
Have I traded the blog hobby for a knitting hobby? Perhaps. But, well, I'd like to think that I now have two awesome hobbies. Before, I could count reading and movies as hobbies, but they don't require the same amount of input, and don't result in the same level of satisfaction. (I guess you could classify my recreational sports activities as hobbies too, but they have a vastly different purpose.)
It's all a question of priorities. If the novel is the highest priority, then less time should be devoted to tv and knitting. I still have some thinking to do about this.
Of course, work is still phenomenally slow, which means if I were a tiny bit more efficient, a great deal of writing could be done at the office. It's possible that this is exactly how I wrote my dissertation. Don't quote me. (Dissertating also included many weekends and late nights at the office. It included very little time working from home.)
Off to the next event!
Grateful for: opportunities and inspiration.
I missed the first class in my series of eight lessons but I took the second class and was just fine. I've taken quite a few swing dance classes with the same instructors and I know a lot of the material. I was hoping that I'd be familiar with the material from first class and I was. I was relaxed and easy. I practiced my "smile at everyone" technique and everyone was very friendly. It's easy and it works.
The male-to-female ratio was perfect but the nerd quotient was high. Very high. I had a good time but left early. I was still tired from staying home sick most of the previous week. I'm looking forward to the next lesson.
No-show
Sue me, I skipped ushering. There's only so much a body can do.
Mega-fan
On Thursday, I went to my volunteer gig (reading to kids) after the second day of my conference. I had to plan the evening's activities, which I found a bit overwhelming in conception. However, the execution went rather well. We had fewer kids than last time, so fewer disruptions. We knew all the kids from last time, which meant everyone was more comfortable. The kids liked the books and the activity. I learned: I can plan an arts and crafts activity. My main principle: keep it simple, stupid. It worked.
After the volunteering, I hightailed it to Arlington to watch football with Pele and her boyfriend. No offense, Pele, but I know why the BF doesn't have people over more often—that place is a mess! However, I didn't care because the tv was HUGE and the couch was comfortable. Pele even ordered dinner for me! And the BF picked it up! He can keep that place as messy as he likes and it won't bother me one bit.
Finally, finally, the Redskins won. It was a relief. Pele told the BF that I'm a mega fan. He is a long time fan himself. I demurred and saying that following a team faithfully for one season does not make a mega fan. (Though I actually watched quite a few games last year.) He was amused. Me too.
No sale
On Friday, I was too lazy to go to the blogger happy hour—or was I too drunk? Probably both. I was also invited to a cocktail party at a neighbor's house. This was, in fact, a "sales" party at TR's house, organized by his wife. For the first part of the evening, TR was out with the kids and we ladies ate and drank and then listened to a sales pitch for high-end skin care products. I'm sure the products were all excellent but I just couldn't deal with it (i.e., buy anything). When TR eventually joined us, then retired to the kitchen to wash dishes, I followed him. We talked about work and football. A lot about football. TR asked my opinion about football. Bizarre.
Aside: I've been thinking a lot about the meaning of sport and why so many of us are attached to watching. First, I think it signals an ability to identify with something outside of oneself and the desire to be part of something larger than oneself. It's foolish, sure, but deeply meaningful. Second, it is about the best source of small talk ever! Yay sports!
Humorous epilogue: guess who spent $100 on high end skin care products at L'Occitane en Provence on Monday? (Shampoo, conditioner, toner, body wash and a present for Mom.) My usual source for such products (with the exception of the present) is the drug store and very occasionally the hair salon. I am a paradox.
Par-tay
On Saturday, I ended up with two party invites. One to the "party of mystery" and another from a work acquaintance. I spent most of the day hanging around the house slowly cleaning, knitting and watching dvds. I picked up my Seattle friend, Amanda, and her fiancé up from the airport around 7pm and took them home. We hung out for a while, but, as planned, I left for my parties around 9pm. (My exchange with Amanda about this went something like this:
Me: I feel bad taking you home and then just leaving you there.
Amanda: What, you don't trust us alone at your place?
Me: No! I feel like a bad host.
Amanda: Don't be silly.)
I drove to Arlington, to the work-acquaintance party. I was flying solo, but that was fine since I knew people where I was going. Upon arrival, I was greeted with a party of five (including me). Work friends, Nina, Danielle and Deirdre and the host, Bill, were the only other guests. I can't explain why, but I stayed there for the rest of the evening. I get along great with Bill, well with Danielle and so-so with Nina and Deirdre. Yet, Nina is my actual friend from this group. I can explain, but it's tiresome. I had a sufficiently entertaining time. Then I went home.
Brunchy
On Sunday morning, I took Amanda and her fiancé to Arlington (popular place!) to meet Amanda's brother for brunch. I joined them and it was fun. It's been years since I've seen Amanda's brother and I got to meet his kids too. After brunch and a little shopping, we parted ways. I let Amanda borrow the car for a couple days since she is also visiting friends in Baltimore and Annapolis. She'll come back to my place tonight—we're going to dinner. Hope she's enjoying driving the camper. Heh.
Wrap-up
This week is busy too. Last night, I went to a staged-reading of my playwright friend's newest play. Great, just as expected. Tonight, Amanda is staying with me. Tomorrow, I bake brownies. Thursday, I will probably skip a happy hour. Friday is our office party, at TR's place, which means a short day. Saturday, I drive to PA for a memorial service. Sunday, I drive home. Blah. I'm tired already.
Last week, as I mentioned, I sat in a conference for two days. I found it interesting and useful. About halfway through the second day, though, I started to fade. I started doodling and writing. I put my mind to an idea for a novel. Somehow, the background of a power point presentation is conducive to creativity. Perhaps it's because it doesn't insistently demand my attention like television.
What's great is that I came up with what might be a reasonable structure for a novel I would enjoy writing. It will be heavily (mostly) autobiographical, but it will be presented as fiction. That way I can fill in where I can't remember the actual events and dialog and I can drop/combine/create characters as needed. Plus, I have a gimmick. I've already written some unknown proportion of the novel via the blog, though the blog will not be part of the novel.
The real question is: when am I going to write this novel? And, I suppose, do I really want to write this novel? It used to be that when I got home, I set myself up with the computer and typed away while I watched tv. Now, I combine knitting with my tv watching and do very little writing at home or on the weekends. The knitting is deeply satisfying. The process is pleasurable and having something to show for it is awesome.
Have I traded the blog hobby for a knitting hobby? Perhaps. But, well, I'd like to think that I now have two awesome hobbies. Before, I could count reading and movies as hobbies, but they don't require the same amount of input, and don't result in the same level of satisfaction. (I guess you could classify my recreational sports activities as hobbies too, but they have a vastly different purpose.)
It's all a question of priorities. If the novel is the highest priority, then less time should be devoted to tv and knitting. I still have some thinking to do about this.
Of course, work is still phenomenally slow, which means if I were a tiny bit more efficient, a great deal of writing could be done at the office. It's possible that this is exactly how I wrote my dissertation. Don't quote me. (Dissertating also included many weekends and late nights at the office. It included very little time working from home.)
Off to the next event!
Grateful for: opportunities and inspiration.
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