Eleanor and I were talking yesterday about work, and life, and careers and changes and all of that. She and I came to the agreement--it was so refreshing to find someone who agrees with me on this!--that you spend too much time at work, too many hours, too much effort, to not love it. To not enjoy it. Or at least to not find it meaningful or important in some way.
I have always felt this way, but it was a sneaky dirty secret in the back of my mind, a shameful suspicion that I was different somehow. I would always pretend that things were great, I loved my work, I was so glad I went to grad school and got to do this FOREVER until I died. Then, when I was comfortable with someone, when I felt safe, I might tentatively foray into the truth. In a tiny little voice: I hate my job. And always, without fail, one hundred percent of the time I heard "Nobody likes their job. That's why they call it "work." " For a very long time I felt that I was the one person in the world destined to be unhappy, that there was something wrong with me, that I couldn't fit into the real world and the way you were supposed to be and that I would never be a fully functional adult. But I wasn't just mildly annoyed by my job. I wasn't just a little nostalgic for the days that I managed my own time and had free time during the day and sometimes got to see the sunlight. I felt caged, restless; I was trapped behind a desk and in a routine and the world was going on without me and as long as I was working I would never, ever get to know what a spring afternoon in DC smelled like or lay on my couch with the windows open late into a summer evening and not have to worry about mentally preparing for the next day of torturous empty mind-numbing work or sleep late on a weekday and go to the grocery store when it wasn't crowded.
I carefully broached the subject with a few close friends, wondering if it is possible that I just wasn't cut out for the 9 to 5. The general consensus was that the 9 to 5 world sucks, but you learn to deal with it. Sure, we'd all be happier not working, but such is life. Bills need to be paid. I still couldn't shake the suspicion that this went beyond growing pains, beyond not wanting to work; that the yearning for sunlight and flexibility, the desire for challenge and variety and meaning in my work went beyond just a little boredom with office life and that maybe just maybe there were people who weren't cut out for desk jobs, weren't right for the part, needed to find something a little different.
As it turns out, I was right. Eleanor and I were discussing this, as I mentioned, and we were talking it over early in a warm spring evening as we drove up to Ellicott City with a Bullmastiff named Lexie in the backseat. The sleeve of my shirt was damp with Lexie's enthusiastic drool and the sun hit the top of our heads and we listened to music and gossiped about work and talked about animals and their welfare and ways to do better in our jobs. We were checking out a dog rescue group that we want to start working with and they offered to take this dog and yes, I got home a little late and yes, traffic was a bitch but when I saw that gorgeous dog stretch her legs out and bound through her new yard I laughed, and I thought "I don't know why they call this work."
Sometimes I work through the weekend. Sometimes I miss things like bridal showers and parties and sleeping late, things I would like to do but can't because I have to work. And there are late nights and hard decisions and it is work, people, every day with the decisions and the critical thinking and the difficult conversations and the tricky interactions with the public and the constant struggle between non-profit resources and ambitions. But I get to be outside sometimes during the day, and I get to play fetch with dogs, and I get to do weird and crazy things like get interrupted from my tedious computer work to go help evaluate a dog's behavior or figure out how to get a half-wild cat out of a cage. And I have days off during the week and I can run errands or watch daytime TV or do anything I want. Now that I don't need two hours to mentally prepare for the next day my evenings are so much freer, I can go to Lowes or do laundry or hang out with friends and my time is my own, I'm living the whole day now and not just waiting for the weekends. This job that demands so much more of my time has given me so much more time to live.
I was not cut out for the 9-5. I wish I had honored that thought earlier, wish I had not doubted myself and listened to others for so long. I am so much more alive now. But I am glad that I figured it out, that I took this chance. In looking back, I realized now that I should have known years ago, when I seemed to be the only person in any office I was in that couldn't understand the basic fundamentals of the business-casual environment. The ingredients were so simple: black pants, cardigans, blouses, polo shirts in neutrals, flats and boots in black and brown. Perhaps a belt or two. I had all of these ingredients; why was I never able to pull it together? Fifty million lint rollers in my house, and from the knee down every pair of black pants I owned were covered in cat hair. Nobody else seemed to have this problem--I know, I looked. Right then, it should have occurred to me to find a job in which heavy-duty navy blue police-issued cargo pants were standard attire.
It is Friday night. I work tomorrow. I can't wait to get there.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
on a brighter note
I have become comfortable enough in my new job to start feeling feisty.
On Sunday we packed off a group of hamsters to a rescue group. I don't know much about hamsters, just enough to know that they are little and furry and that we don't adopt them out; we give them to rescue groups. I give the groups as much information as possible based on the information that is given to me, and they come and get them and adopt them out or keep them or erect shrines to them or whatever it is they do.
Today I got an email from said rescue group. It said,
"Kate,
I just wanted to let you know that one of the hamsters was pregnant and went into labor this evening. Also, there was a male in with a female. I just wanted to let you know so you could take steps to prevent this. Thanks!"
First, I'd like to note that I'm not responsible for caging the critters or determining their sex or pregnancy status. But soon I will be, so I forwarded the email to my boss and the shelter director with the following addendum:
"Oops. I guess the first thing I should learn is how to sex hamsters. I guess at least we're giving them more bang for their buck. However, I suppose a little less bang would have prevented this from happening in the first place."
Does anyone know how long hamsters gestate for?
On Sunday we packed off a group of hamsters to a rescue group. I don't know much about hamsters, just enough to know that they are little and furry and that we don't adopt them out; we give them to rescue groups. I give the groups as much information as possible based on the information that is given to me, and they come and get them and adopt them out or keep them or erect shrines to them or whatever it is they do.
Today I got an email from said rescue group. It said,
"Kate,
I just wanted to let you know that one of the hamsters was pregnant and went into labor this evening. Also, there was a male in with a female. I just wanted to let you know so you could take steps to prevent this. Thanks!"
First, I'd like to note that I'm not responsible for caging the critters or determining their sex or pregnancy status. But soon I will be, so I forwarded the email to my boss and the shelter director with the following addendum:
"Oops. I guess the first thing I should learn is how to sex hamsters. I guess at least we're giving them more bang for their buck. However, I suppose a little less bang would have prevented this from happening in the first place."
Does anyone know how long hamsters gestate for?
Friday, April 20, 2007
today we are all the same
Each time I logged in this week to add to my blog, I lost interest and moved on to other things. My heart is heavy and my mind is still slow with shock. I have thought of things to blog about, had some funny work stories and philosophical insights and amusing anecdotes to ponder, but cnn.com is my homepage and each time I open internet explorer on the way to blogger.com I get sidetracked by the headlines and the images and the grief and the questions and the blame and the heartache.
As a Virginian, I take great pride in the wealth of quality higher education that my state offers. Given my upbringing in the central part of the state, I have friends who went to all of the universities in Virginia. I have attended games at many; I drank too much at several; I learned things at a few; I have lost my virtue and found my inspiration and lost my keys and found my self at more than one campus in this great Commonwealth. I've always had a little uppity UVA in me, a great deal of W&M intellect, some VCU toughness, a little Mason diversity, maybe even some Tech spirit. God knows I spent enough time hanging over the campus hooked to a tree belaying my high school boyfriend during his rock climbing exploits, but that's another story.
I have spent the last ten years of my life on college campuses. One of the great challenges of the past few months has been learning to establish my identity when I don't have a ready-made community like William and Mary or GW or UVA. As a student or an administrator, your campus becomes your world, your small little piece of the universe, a microcosm of all of the politics and entertainment and social circles and bureaucracy of the world. Everything becomes contained in those few square blocks--you run your errands at the student center, you make friends in varying departments, you get your news from the student paper. Yet you are also part of a larger community: the sometimes archaic, always political, largely rewarding world of academia. As a student, you identify immediately with other students, rivals though they may be; your collective unconscious of shared experiences like keg stands and moldy showers and all-nighters and open-book exams bonds you regardless of school colors or athletics ranking. As an administrator, the daily challenges of straddling the awkward friend-authority line or the constant battle between red tape and student needs make for easy conversations and ready empathy. In my years as a college administrator I never thought twice about picking up the phone and asking a complete stranger for advice or assistance, nor did I ever balk at helping out a fellow student affairs professional. Academia is unlike any other world; the university is one of the few places where the lines between adolescent and adult, customer and provider, teacher and student blur so freely. It is the one place where, though some may at times lose sight of it, the bottom line is always fundamentally the love and appreciation of knowledge and learning and the benefit to society that education provides. It is a world of which, though I chose to leave, I will always be grateful for having been a part. And it is that world that has been shaken up this week.
Perhaps my heart is so tired this week because the daily stressors and sadnesses in my job make me prone to inappropriate emotional responses. Perhaps it is because I have so many friends and family personally touched by the tragedy. But I think we are all affected by this because of that larger community to which we belong--that place in our history where we struggled on the way to an early class, wore our flip-flops on the first warm morning, pulled out our notes eager to make a point during discussion. And you do not have to be a professor to feel dismayed at the loss of promising younger and distinguished older minds. It is the student in me that grieves. It is the college counselor in me that aches. It is the educator in me that mourns.
But today it is the Hokie in me that still hopes.
As a Virginian, I take great pride in the wealth of quality higher education that my state offers. Given my upbringing in the central part of the state, I have friends who went to all of the universities in Virginia. I have attended games at many; I drank too much at several; I learned things at a few; I have lost my virtue and found my inspiration and lost my keys and found my self at more than one campus in this great Commonwealth. I've always had a little uppity UVA in me, a great deal of W&M intellect, some VCU toughness, a little Mason diversity, maybe even some Tech spirit. God knows I spent enough time hanging over the campus hooked to a tree belaying my high school boyfriend during his rock climbing exploits, but that's another story.
I have spent the last ten years of my life on college campuses. One of the great challenges of the past few months has been learning to establish my identity when I don't have a ready-made community like William and Mary or GW or UVA. As a student or an administrator, your campus becomes your world, your small little piece of the universe, a microcosm of all of the politics and entertainment and social circles and bureaucracy of the world. Everything becomes contained in those few square blocks--you run your errands at the student center, you make friends in varying departments, you get your news from the student paper. Yet you are also part of a larger community: the sometimes archaic, always political, largely rewarding world of academia. As a student, you identify immediately with other students, rivals though they may be; your collective unconscious of shared experiences like keg stands and moldy showers and all-nighters and open-book exams bonds you regardless of school colors or athletics ranking. As an administrator, the daily challenges of straddling the awkward friend-authority line or the constant battle between red tape and student needs make for easy conversations and ready empathy. In my years as a college administrator I never thought twice about picking up the phone and asking a complete stranger for advice or assistance, nor did I ever balk at helping out a fellow student affairs professional. Academia is unlike any other world; the university is one of the few places where the lines between adolescent and adult, customer and provider, teacher and student blur so freely. It is the one place where, though some may at times lose sight of it, the bottom line is always fundamentally the love and appreciation of knowledge and learning and the benefit to society that education provides. It is a world of which, though I chose to leave, I will always be grateful for having been a part. And it is that world that has been shaken up this week.
Perhaps my heart is so tired this week because the daily stressors and sadnesses in my job make me prone to inappropriate emotional responses. Perhaps it is because I have so many friends and family personally touched by the tragedy. But I think we are all affected by this because of that larger community to which we belong--that place in our history where we struggled on the way to an early class, wore our flip-flops on the first warm morning, pulled out our notes eager to make a point during discussion. And you do not have to be a professor to feel dismayed at the loss of promising younger and distinguished older minds. It is the student in me that grieves. It is the college counselor in me that aches. It is the educator in me that mourns.
But today it is the Hokie in me that still hopes.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
a whole new world
If I look back to one year ago (or, who are we kidding, two months ago), my life was a completely different thing than it is now. A year ago, I was madly spending money and time on any escape from the drudgery that was my job. Shopping trips, days off, concerts, preparing for a summer of travel and slacking off and disposing of my disposable income in as many fun ways as I could think of. When I wasn't drinking or shopping or socializing I was crouched defensively on my sofa, hiding from the world and my job and everything except my television.
Being a homeowner has changed me in one single, critical way. In all of my 27 years combined I have not spent as much time in Lowes and/or Home Depot as I have in the past two weeks. And I love it. The cross-section of society! The sharp smell of freshly-cut lumber! The staggeringly broad array of lightbulbs!
I have hardly had time for television this week. But by god, I have hung some damn pictures.
Being a homeowner has changed me in one single, critical way. In all of my 27 years combined I have not spent as much time in Lowes and/or Home Depot as I have in the past two weeks. And I love it. The cross-section of society! The sharp smell of freshly-cut lumber! The staggeringly broad array of lightbulbs!
I have hardly had time for television this week. But by god, I have hung some damn pictures.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
movin' on up
If you've ever been to my old house, the house where the vast majority of my married life took place until now, you know that it consisted of one small kitchen, a bedroom, three bathrooms, a lot of steps, and a room that became living room/office/dining room/den. This room, of course, is where we spent most of our time, on the computer, watching tv, on the phone, reading, knitting, playing with the cats, paying bills, socializing. Essentially each day we would be in that room until bedtime, both of us, trying to go about our daily lives and move about the room without running into our furniture, a cat, or each other. For more than two years, I never had to raise my voice above a mumble to get Joe's attention, never had to tell him what I was up to, never had to go and find him.
I married a workaholic computer geek who spends a huge amount of time in front of his computer. If he's not working (after work) from home, he's playing around with his new online venture (details forthcoming). Before, in the mini-house, this didn't affect me because he was still in the room, watching tv, talking to me, whatever. Now, though, he's ALL THE WAY upstairs in his office, and I have to tell you, I'm getting a little lonely. The other day I got tangled up in an unfortunate laundry incident in the basement of the house, stuck between a laundry basket and the aforementioned gate/moat/armed guard system. Joe was upstairs in the office and I was down there for what felt like hours before he heard me yelling for assistance. To be fair, the cats were on the scene immediately offering assistance, but mostly all I got from them was a tail up the nose and the distinct feeling that they were laughing at me.
Also, we live in a ridiculously nice house in a lovely part of town and today, at dinner, the hand-me-down-down-down dining room set that we have been living with turned in its two-week notice. While dining in our lovely dining room in our lovely house in our lovely part of town, Joe went from upright to on the ground in point two seconds when his chair gave up the ghost and collapsed, for good, into several small pieces. We're like the biggest posers I know, we're like those ornate beautiful wedding cakes with jewels in the icing that, when you cut them open, are just grocery-store variety yellow sheet cake.
Does anyone know where you can buy folding chairs?
I married a workaholic computer geek who spends a huge amount of time in front of his computer. If he's not working (after work) from home, he's playing around with his new online venture (details forthcoming). Before, in the mini-house, this didn't affect me because he was still in the room, watching tv, talking to me, whatever. Now, though, he's ALL THE WAY upstairs in his office, and I have to tell you, I'm getting a little lonely. The other day I got tangled up in an unfortunate laundry incident in the basement of the house, stuck between a laundry basket and the aforementioned gate/moat/armed guard system. Joe was upstairs in the office and I was down there for what felt like hours before he heard me yelling for assistance. To be fair, the cats were on the scene immediately offering assistance, but mostly all I got from them was a tail up the nose and the distinct feeling that they were laughing at me.
Also, we live in a ridiculously nice house in a lovely part of town and today, at dinner, the hand-me-down-down-down dining room set that we have been living with turned in its two-week notice. While dining in our lovely dining room in our lovely house in our lovely part of town, Joe went from upright to on the ground in point two seconds when his chair gave up the ghost and collapsed, for good, into several small pieces. We're like the biggest posers I know, we're like those ornate beautiful wedding cakes with jewels in the icing that, when you cut them open, are just grocery-store variety yellow sheet cake.
Does anyone know where you can buy folding chairs?
Sunday, April 01, 2007
cathouse
If I thought for a heartbeat that anyone was still reading my blog, I'd apologize for not posting.
I haven't done laundry, worked out, or cooked in what feels like a year, but is probably closer to a month. Every day off I've had since I started my new job has been dedicated to picking, buying, closing, packing, moving, unpacking the new house.
But I am settling. And my OCD is finally sated--I know where everything is, I'm finding places for it all. And I've got a to-do list a mile long, but somehow I feel relatively on top of it all for once.
I am, however, officially losing my mind. Those of you who know my old house know the elaborate system of moats, ladders, and armed guards that I set up to ensure that my kitties' precious paws never touch the outside world. It is only going to be worse here. But the newest mark of my utter insanity has to be what I did yesterday. Provoked by the massive pet food recall, I strolled down the street to the little natural pet food boutique and dropped five bucks on four cans of high-end, organic, all-natural fancy-schmancy canned cat food. Pleased with myself, I brought home the bounty and, in the chattery baby-talk that I've picked up since the new job started, explained to the kitties how healthy and happy they would now be.
It is not going over well.
Here's what's funny to me: in the last 60 days, I have quit my job of three years (and my career of five), started a new job and a new field and a new lifestyle, bought a house and moved and settled in. And I'm talking about cat food.
Sigh.
I haven't done laundry, worked out, or cooked in what feels like a year, but is probably closer to a month. Every day off I've had since I started my new job has been dedicated to picking, buying, closing, packing, moving, unpacking the new house.
But I am settling. And my OCD is finally sated--I know where everything is, I'm finding places for it all. And I've got a to-do list a mile long, but somehow I feel relatively on top of it all for once.
I am, however, officially losing my mind. Those of you who know my old house know the elaborate system of moats, ladders, and armed guards that I set up to ensure that my kitties' precious paws never touch the outside world. It is only going to be worse here. But the newest mark of my utter insanity has to be what I did yesterday. Provoked by the massive pet food recall, I strolled down the street to the little natural pet food boutique and dropped five bucks on four cans of high-end, organic, all-natural fancy-schmancy canned cat food. Pleased with myself, I brought home the bounty and, in the chattery baby-talk that I've picked up since the new job started, explained to the kitties how healthy and happy they would now be.
It is not going over well.
Here's what's funny to me: in the last 60 days, I have quit my job of three years (and my career of five), started a new job and a new field and a new lifestyle, bought a house and moved and settled in. And I'm talking about cat food.
Sigh.
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