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There are some days (okay, most) that I really hate this job to my core. I knew it was going to be hard when I took this job, but this is pushing my every last bit of patience and soul. My boss got fired (not laid-off) a month ago, I’m still feeling like a producing hound and having to see Mr. Co-worker every day doesn’t help (although we’ve seen to established an ability to act like the other doesn’t exist). On top of that, the girls that I once trusted here seem to have lost their minds and abandoned and outcasted me.
But the economy is bad so I have to be grateful I have this job and a source of income. I feel guilty even thinking these hateful and negative thoughts, but it consumes me day in and day out. Would I have been happy if I had taken the other job in New Orleans? Maybe, but maybe not. There’s no way to ever know and it’s pointless to ever ask that.
It’s been 6 months and it’s been hard. So hard. There are moments or short-lived days where I feel happy, satisfaction and pride that I’ve come this far. But the majority of the time, I’m just drained from having to keep pushing forward with this much energy. I don’t really know how else to do it. If I just sit back and wait for life to happen, I go against every “life” rule of “fighting for what you want.” If I keep going at the rate I’m going, I’m destined for a complete shutdown (which is already happening). People keeps saying, “Give it time. It takes at least a year to feel IT when you move and make such a life change.”
I long ago stopped believing that “things happen for a reason.” Nowadays, I just feel like “Crap happens. Random. Bad luck.”
Apparently I need to learn patience.
The autumn wind, and the winter winds – they have come and gone
And still the days, those lonely days – they go on and on
And guess who sighs his lullabies – through nights that never end
My fickle friend, the summer wind
-The Summer Wind
This summer, the wind has decided to blow me every which way. Out of the comfort of St. Louis, into the wonder of Greece and Italy, through the beauty of California, the bigness of Texas and back home to New Orleans. As of Tuesday night, my decision was made. I decided to be excited and pro-active and embrace living in the city I grew up, no matter how tough it would be. It’s all in the attitude, right?
I wrote out 3 unsent emails at 1am that morning: one to Austin declining the job; another to the friends that were subject to my arguing in circles; a third to those unaware of it all. I would call New Orleans in the morning to give them my choice and see if they had agreed to the measly $1500/year salary increase (Austin had offered $4500 more). It was never about the money, but about New Orleans knowing I had better options and pay elsewhere. I fell asleep, completely at peace with my decision.
But life likes to mess with me or in this case, the summer wind. To my surprise, the boss wanted me to come in for another round of interviews and meet the interactive team to make sure we got along. This would have been all nice and dandy except a week ago, he had already offered me a job (I was lying on the ugly beach in Galveston when I got the call). And this is what’s nagged me about their process all along; they refused to talk salary until I demanded that I needed to know or I couldn’t make a decision. Confused by this sudden turn of events, I went in yesterday for one of the strangest interviews of my life.
I’m going to preface this with I’ve been on a lot of interviews in my life; one of my most embarassing stories happened at a round 2 interview that I uncharastically bombed (I’ll save this for another day; it’s a thing of legend). So when I walked in, I suddenly got the feeling it was going to be very similiar. These people must have had been handed a game plan on how to treat me in this interview because THREE rounds later, I was drained. They grilled me. And when I mean grill, I mean threw everything at me they could.
But I was prepared. I’m not sure what it was, but I stayed cool and answered their questions without a blink or a flinch. One girl who came in with some serious issues with me and was the meanest of the bunch:
“You seem to have moved up very quickly in the last three years (scribbles “4 months” on my resume and double underlines it). You went from senior designer to art director in that short of time, huh? Well, HERE, we have a hiearchy and it’s strict and we all follow it.”
Translation: “You can’t just waltz in! I want your job and you have to work for respect.”
“If I gave you X, how fast can you do it by? Because we’re on a timeline and we stick to it.”
Without even thinking, I snapped back, “How fast do you want it? If you want it in an hour, you get it an hour. Might not be its best, but you tell me what you need and I’m there.”
“Well, just so you know, working with the creative director means you have to give up your vision sometimes. At the end of the day, it’s his idea and his project, so you need to give up ego.”
I’ll spare the details of the next few rounds, but it was rough. Unlike the last interview I had like this, I didn’t blow it. Truthfully, I walked away filling confused about their intentions, but pretty damn proud of myself for rocking it. He promised I would get a call in the morning with a possible offer (negating the one he already offered me?!). So I spent a restless night trying to make a choice. This morning, he called bright and early and offered (with only a $500 increase); to his surprise, I told him I would call him back in an hour.
I panicked.
And panicked.
Then I remembered what someone told me: “Most people want to be a big fish in a small pond, but I think being a small fish in a big pond means you have room to grow and be a big fish in a big pond.”
And with that thought, I made the call and changed everything. Things move fast, don’t they? I move to Austin next weekend and start next Tuesday. A good friend is letting me stay with her until I make money to move to my own place and come back for the rest of my things. So that’s that. I’m jumping head in and after telling New Orleans my choice (they freaked and got mad that I was still considering Austin when I went in yesterday), I’m confident I chose the right place. I cannot wait to get back to work!
“If you truly expect to realize your dreams, abandon the need for blanket approval. If conforming to everyone’s expectations is the number one goal, you have sacrificed your uniqueness, and therefore your excellence.” – Hope Solo, U.S. Olympic Soccer
Gut feeling is always a strong thing, isn’t it? No one dares go against it, especially if you pull it out in an arguement or discussion. It’s a card that is thrown on the table that declares, “Take that! Prove me wrong.”
And wrong it’s never been. The few times I went against it proved to be a failure and me lamenting over my betrayal of that almighty force. It wasn’t wrong when I suspected my ex of hooking up with a mutal friend; it was dead on that I should take my last job, even if it was only for four months. That feeling will start as a tiny push of realization from a passing comment and it sticks to your gut, making you question every little thing.
So it’s with that said, I have yet to really come to a decision, as much as I know what the right one probably is. Not that there’s even a right or wrong, but what’s the best path for me right now. Do I live for the long-run and live for the moment? I’ve notoriously always followed the first school of thought, but maybe this time, I have to just do what I need to do right now. Or do I just jump in and take the risk? My gut says I’ll be okay, even great, with either decision. Can I really make a life for myself here? Doubts keep slipping in. How do I work against that when it says choose the dream job, but live in the other city? Guess you can’t have everything.
Up to this point, most everyone’s been incredibly supportive of either decision. And yes, I’m making this choice for me and not anyone else, but it’s been helpful to hear people’s take on my concerns of living in New Orleans or working in Austin. It’s proved valuable in helping me view things differently. The few friends that I swore would say one thing said another and showed me I need to give myself more credit in my ability to keep moving when things are down. The 2-3 people (guys mentioned previously in this blog) that have been adamant against New Orleans have made it tough; makes me feel like I’m not getting something crucial. There’s been a few arguments, strong words, angry emails, but in the end, I threw out the “gut feeling” and it was silenced. That and, “Please support me in any decision I make, yeah? Your support really matters to me.” The power of words, huh?
And gut’s not wrong when I suddenly got the feeling that Mr. Harmless Crush has a thing for one of my best friends. A girl just knows these things, right? And until recently, I never thought much of it until she reacted to something differently than usual. The schemantics and logistics don’t matter, but it still pricks at me a bit. But that’s what it is; there’s a million galaxies and planets all revolving around one point and that point isn’t me. I’ve got bigger things to fry.
The end.
I have a spending problem.
No, it’s not the normal kind of shopaholics, layaways or rich people. It’s some bizarre continual guilt about spending money or buying things. Ever since I was a child, I was always worried about money and I’m not sure why. I grew up in a typical middle-class family, was lucky enough to attend private schools and went to a great college. I never asked my parents for things and they always told me to stop worrying since it was their job to think about the finances. I don’t consider myself cheap (if anything, I spend more money on my friends than myself), but have always been frugal.
When I first started working after college, it took awhile to adjust to a higher income and the idea that quality is more important. In the last year, however, the guilt has increased. It nags and nags me and I have no idea how to quiet it down. Maybe it’s because I’m quitting a well-paying job with benefits for the heck of it and to go “discover myself” and explore this much-needed break. Maybe it’s guilt of having no income when I’m the only one supporting my family (let it be noted, I am no way bitter or angry or feel it a burden). My parents fully support my decision to make this giant change; in fact, they were the ones that encouraged me to relax and take some time out to travel. Guilt, guilt, guilt.
It’s driving me insane to have these constant feeling in my chest. It completely clashes against my love of adventure and trying new things. Guilt about dropping a load of money for a Europe ticket (even though it’s a life dream and I know it’s worth it), for a awesome backpack, for all the moving fees, for new tires on my car and now, new clothes.
I was part of a friend’s garage sale today and while going through everything, I managed to pack up 60% of my clothing. To most, this is a shocking thing for a girl to do, but I’m not lying when I say, even with that 60%, all my clothes could probably fit into 2 large suitcases. I only own about 10 pairs of shoes (half of these are probably flip flops/tennis shoes) and even fewer purses. For the longest time, I thought this was normal! But then I saw my friend’s pile at the garage sale and I was blown away. She was selling about 30 pairs of shoes and that barely made a dent in her collection that she was keeping. Same with purses and clothing. I must have missed out on some key gene for accessories. Or it was 12 years of Catholic school uniforms that has left me with the habit of a small wardrobe (personally, I love uniforms, but it did take awhile to get used to wearing “weekend clothes” daily when I got to college). Name brands mean nothing to me (unless it’s computer/tech equipment) and the most compliments I get about jewelry/clothing are usually things I’ve picked up at Target.
Don’t get me wrong, I like nice things. I’ll willingly spend money on things I know will go into use often (yes, I’ll still feel guilty). Skydiving would really be a thrill. I would love a new digital camera for Europe, but my current one works fine; I would love that new Apple MacBook, but my old school Powerbook is still ticking along. I’ll use things until their timely death, even a favorite tshirt with a hole. So the fact that I willingly gave away most of my clothes to the garage sale and Salvation Army (I only made $17, sadly) is a good sign I’m growing up. But the guilt! I had clothes that I still fit, but no longer wore and now I have a shrunken wardrobe and a much needed shopping trip. Guilt, guilt, guilt.
Maybe it’s Catholic guilt, even though eating dessert has nothing to do with religion. I had severe survivors’ guilt after Katrina; most of my friends lost everything and our house still stood with minimal flooding. Maybe the reason isn’t important. I don’t know. I’m too exhausted constantly worrying. Even my financial advisor said the fact I started saving at such a young age meant I would be fine by the time I retire. I have married friends that have yet to set up a savings account, but it’s fruitless to compare myself to others or say “Well, at least you don’t…”
Blah.
I have this strange fear of disappointing people, mostly of perception in what I’m in capable of. I can’t figure it out why they believe in me so strongly and in response, I become a weird hybrid of not being able to say no and workaholic. And then I fret about meeting these expectations to later find out, it’s all just in my head and my the standards I’ve set for myself.
My parents were incredibly strict raising me: no television on the weekends, straight A’s, work hard and put your best foot forward. To some people, this may seem claustrophobic or unbreathable and growing up, I went through rebellious stages where I hated them for holding so tightly to these rules. When I didn’t receive a scholarship from the high school I was about to attend, I was devastated. To my surprise, my parents were not only supportive, but also eased my fears of disappointing them. My mom explained that she had long ago let go of policing me to do my best; I was quite well of it on my own. Most of the pressure I felt was from myself. It was then that I reached that point that all parents hope for: I understood and was grateful for how my parents raised me.
But it never eased my constant fear of disappointment. It wasn’t even failure that I worried about. It was just some innate standard I had set for myself to always question things I created or wonder if I was not living up people’s expectations of me. Once I entered the real world, this feeling was inevitable. Even at this current job that I absolutely love, I still worry that I won’t live up to their perception of me. After all, they hired me for four months, knowing full well I was running out of the city in June. I’ve been there for a month now and I’ve received nothing but respect and support, so this ridiculous inner voice is the only thing sending out signals of insecurity.
I never worry about this with men I date; what they see is what they get. So why can’t I figure out how to do this in other areas of my life? I recently got involved in a new project that I’m incredibly excited about and although I’m the one who asked for their suggestions, I started worrying today about my ability to pull through these great ideas. Even with this looming decision of which city to move to in the fall, I worry that my choice will disappoint people’s hopes for me. If I don’t go to NY and live this “great NY once-in-a-lifetime experience,” will I be missing out? Then I think, “But the goal was to get out of St. Louis and you’re doing that. Success!” Right?
I’ve been told I’m hard on myself, but for me, I see that as the thing that pushed me to this great place I’m at right now. So is it still normal to have this inner voice that continually challenges and questions everything I do? My 8th grade religion teacher (and also a priest) said it’s good to question things, especially your religion. Then he handed the each student a dollar bill and asked us to question that (now that I think about that, I can’t remember the point of that exercise).
As much as I’m panicking about this giant move and immense change about to happen (is happening), I know it’s crucial. I need to quiet myself for a bit and just breathe. Hopefully a summer in New Orleans and Europe will do the trick!
P.S. Despite English being my best subject in high school, I really hated “Great Expectations.” And “Grapes of Wrath” (talk about expectations for a new life!).
