If you asked me to recall my first day of work at my current employer, I don’t think I could, to save my life.
I can only guess it was on a November day. The air was cool. And it probably wasn’t raining like it was today.
I do wish I could remember what I could have been thinking as I entered the building for the first time …
Likely sidling up to the security desk … asking for someone by name … getting authorized, then handed one of those fluorescent “visitor” stickers.
I’m pretty sure I was nervous. Knowing I was starting from the very bottom of the totem pole. Hoping that I’d do a good job.
And I’m sure that if someone told me that I’d still be working there eight years later, I’d probably look at them as if they were insane.
Sure, I’d say, that’s what I hope for. But who knows? And considering I how lucky I was to find a job just two months after September 11, you’d probably understand where I’d be coming from.
And yet, here I am. In the future.
I’ve managed a slow ascent up the evolutionary chain – gaining a better station, vacation time, benefits. The stuff working adult lives are made of.
And again I’m lucky, pulling off the monumental feat of being fully employed in the midst of a world-wide recession – keeping afloot in an industry being hit with closures, layoffs and threats of bankruptcy.
I suppose I have that proverbial brass ring – or half-ring – people talk about.
At least I HAVE a job, I keep hearing.
So I should just shut up and be happy, right? Well, easier said than done.
I have moments. Of nervous energy. Frustration. Lack of motivation. Yearning for something else. Something that’s lacking.
I know there are so many people out there who feel that way. And I’m tired to being made to feel ungrateful for not being over the moon about my job.
Honestly, eight years kinda takes the shine off things. Sometimes, it doesn’t even take that long.
I’m regularly reminded of the world happening outside the bubble I work in – usually by reading Facebook or blog updates by former classmates. People whose raw talent I was in awe of, who I SWORE would be the future of my industry.
But they left – or didn’t even enter, and are blissfully happy. (Or seem that way.)
I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately.
Part of me knows there’s nothing stopping me from leaving at any time, and it’ll be just fine.
But the other part watches the people who’ve come after me, wriggling their way up to – and past – me on the pole, and I start psyching myself out. Wondering if I’ll be a failure for leaving … or if that’s just my tattered self-esteem talking.
Life always looks greener on the other side.
I always told myself I wouldn’t become a “lifer”. That I’d give myself 15 years, then get out.
But perhaps I’m just need to let the dust settle, and that will give myself the opportunity find that niche that, until now, has been eluding me.
Or perhaps I’m still kidding myself.
Either way, I have the type of job security people out there right now would kill to get … even if I’m not 100 per cent happy.
So until bluer skies return, I suppose I should just button my lip, keep my head down and roll up my sleeves.
Because tomorrow is another work day.
Happy anniversary to me.