A change would do you good
I knew it would hit me - just didn't know when. When turned out to be about 4:00 pm on the middle of my last week of work, as I sat indian style on the floor, flanked on either side by file folders chronicling my successes, my failures, my learning curves and my newly acquired expertise. Some in the recycle bin, some made into pdf's to go with me, some into the filing system for the boss to come back to once my institutional memory departs.
I'm terrible at transitions. I was the only kid who never got excited about new stuff because it meant I had to give up the old, the safe stuff. Even when the new stuff had pink streamers and a basket on the front... nope, here's Meghan, crying on her 10th birthday because she got a new bike.
Needless to say I've been counting down the days to Last Day of Work since about, um, January AND I'm beside myself psyched to be sharing a zip code with my love. Regardless of all the yay's, I knew there was a little part of me that was going to freak out at some point. I've held up remarkably well so far. At this point last year, as my academic career came screeching to a halt and I was choosing between jobs and between cities I was an absolute train wreck. Waterproof mascara was a staple in May 05. This year - I've been smooth sailing. Not even a 'rita has sent this girl into an emotional downward spiral. And I think I'm going to remain pretty stable, mostly because I'm so psyched about what's to come.
But, regardless, here I am getting sniffley at the sight of manila folders. I am leaving a pretty cushy job - frustrating, but cushy. Lots of independence, employers who for some reason really really like me (as evidenced by both of my bosses getting ... teary eyed?... when I said I was leaving), and a decent paycheck for fairly low stress activity. I'm closing a chapter of independence, and moving into a chapter of sharing. As the middle child, I'm quite adept at this and am looking forward to the perks of having someone to split the grocery bill and the bottle of wine with. But as the middle child, I don't like waves in my water and I'm doing my best to keep treading until I get settled again and the waters grow still again.
So in the meantime, bear with me. I'm just trying to stay afloat during the transition.
I'm terrible at transitions. I was the only kid who never got excited about new stuff because it meant I had to give up the old, the safe stuff. Even when the new stuff had pink streamers and a basket on the front... nope, here's Meghan, crying on her 10th birthday because she got a new bike.
Needless to say I've been counting down the days to Last Day of Work since about, um, January AND I'm beside myself psyched to be sharing a zip code with my love. Regardless of all the yay's, I knew there was a little part of me that was going to freak out at some point. I've held up remarkably well so far. At this point last year, as my academic career came screeching to a halt and I was choosing between jobs and between cities I was an absolute train wreck. Waterproof mascara was a staple in May 05. This year - I've been smooth sailing. Not even a 'rita has sent this girl into an emotional downward spiral. And I think I'm going to remain pretty stable, mostly because I'm so psyched about what's to come.
But, regardless, here I am getting sniffley at the sight of manila folders. I am leaving a pretty cushy job - frustrating, but cushy. Lots of independence, employers who for some reason really really like me (as evidenced by both of my bosses getting ... teary eyed?... when I said I was leaving), and a decent paycheck for fairly low stress activity. I'm closing a chapter of independence, and moving into a chapter of sharing. As the middle child, I'm quite adept at this and am looking forward to the perks of having someone to split the grocery bill and the bottle of wine with. But as the middle child, I don't like waves in my water and I'm doing my best to keep treading until I get settled again and the waters grow still again.
So in the meantime, bear with me. I'm just trying to stay afloat during the transition.