Work-iversary.

Last week marked two years at my job.  The job that scared the living daylights out of me.  The job that tore me out of Bellingham and away from everything I knew and loved in college.  The job at which I cried in the bathroom a handful of times during the first few months.  The job I thought I'd be lucky to survive for even a year.  The job I HATED.  Needless to say, two years is a big deal to me.  A big, BIG deal.  I remember having some casual conversations with people older and wiser than me when I started this job.  They said, "Oh wow, what a great opportunity!" and, "Good for you, that sounds terrific!" and one conversation in particular in which I was told, "That will look so great on your resume - especially if you stay for at least two years.  They say you need to be there at least two years."  Simple thoughts.  No-brainers.  Nothing to freak about.  But I freaked.  DUH!  I'm a freaker.  Especially then, when my resident Mood Monsters were just picking up steam in their pursuit of my sanity.  Pit in stomach.  Fight the tears.  Keep up the poker face, this is nothing to cry about.  "Two years" doesn't sound like a death sentence to most people.  But for me, right then, the thought that I would stick it out for TWO YEARS at this job sounded INSANE.  Impossible.  Laughable (cryable).   

During the "Dark Time" (the details of which I will spare you, since you need only to read previous posts to learn more than enough about that...), it was hard to tell whether my job was making me hate my life or my life was making me hate my job.  But it was neither.  Because there's just nothing wrong with my life.  I mean is it perfect?  Clearly, no.  And thank God for that.  There's not a lot of growth in perfection.  And a job is a JOB.  And only that, really.  Yes, ideally we would all love our jobs.  But we don't.  And that doesn't have to mean we don't love our lives either.  But since the job is what made me move and the job is what took up most of my time and the job is what everyone wanted to talk about and the job was MISERABLE for reasons I still don't quite understand, I confused that with my life being miserable as well.  I was miserable because I was anxious and figuring out that it's really hard to fit into the Big Girl Panties we're handed when we enter the working world.  But this job is incredible.  The more I've thought about it lately, the more I can't believe it, really.  I landed a full-time, full benefits, Monday-Friday day job.  Two months out of college.  I mean what?  I should have been thanking my lucky stars, not crying myself to sleep under them.  But it just wasn't that easy.

Day 1 at my job began at 7am, after a nearly sleepless night following an awful/tearful/cruel-and-unusual goodbye to my home and friends in Bellingham the previous evening.  In a deserted parking lot in south Tacoma.  With a bunch of 80-somethings wearing sun visors and light jackets and excited smiles, waiting to find out who their new fearless leader would be.  Well folks, their leader wasn't fearless.  She was me.  And I was the opposite of fearless.  And I was sleep deprived, and feeling sadder than I had ever remembered feeling, and having a hard time masking the dark circles and bloodshot eyes caused by crying all the way between Bellingham and Tacoma.  But I plastered on a smile that probably looked something like this:

When in reality my true emotions went a little something like this:

... and after a few introductions and a chorus of "just-HOW-old-are-you-anyway???"s and a check to make sure everyone was present, we boarded a bus for Long Beach, WA to attend the kite festival - a field trip planned by my predecessor.  A four hour bus ride.  A four hour tour of the city.  A four hour bus ride home.  That's right folks, you crunched those numbers correctly!  A 12-HOUR FIRST DAY ON THE JOB!  And I cried in the bus bathroom on the way home.  And I had to FORCE my lips into a smile.  And in that one measly day, I had to decline no less than 5 offers to MOVE IN with a kind-hearted volunteer with the best of intentions.  She wanted me to move in.  With her.  After knowing me 12 hours.  It was day 1 and my mind was already reeling with tidbits from college courses in "Maintaining Boundaries" and "Professional Relationships."  [Note: that same woman has asked me to live with her every single time I have seen her since then... sooooo that's 1 meeting per month x 24 months + at least 5 occasions outside of our monthly meetings, for a grand total of nearly 30 asks.  Explaining that I already have a place to live is NOT an effective deterrent, apparently].  Annnnnnnyyyway, after that hellacious day, I was sure there would be NO POSSIBLE WAY I'd make it even a month on the job, let alone TWO YEARS.  

And thank the good Lord above for my dear friend Megan and her lovely parents, Anne and Kevin.  Who let me stay with them before I had a Tacoma home.  Who were the people I got to come home to after that hellacious day.  I called Megan on my way home, said, "I'm pulling up outside.  Let's go to Metropolitan Market," and really didn't explain much more than that.  But she knows me well enough to hear the pain in my voice and see the dew in my eyes, and didn't ask any questions.  She was just there.  And when I thought I could speak without bursting into tears (partially because I think I actually cried out every bit of moisture in my body on the phone to my mom), I explained the situation and she and her parents were there for me every step of the way!  And I could never thank them enough.

The change I was experiencing was wayyyyy more than a long day at a Kite Festival.  And wayyyyy more overwhelming than I ever could have predicted.  And I'm just not very good with change.  Big change, anyway.  I can hang with changing my drink order at Starbucks from time to time.  In fact sometimes you gotta!  And in fact I LOVE exploring new places, trying new restaurants, redecorating rooms, etc.  Those changes are fine.  But significant life changes like moving to a new town and finding a new job and things like that are just really really hard for me.  

But you know what?  This last week has been so very very cool.  Two years at this job has caused me to reflect a LOT.  And in the healthiest way!  I am feeling nostalgia, but it's joyful nostalgia.  It's satisfied nostalgia.  It's nostalgia bursting with pride.  I did it.  I. Freaking. Did. It.  With the help of wise counsel and modern medicine and MY BADASSINESS, I made it here and I am happy.  Not every day, but a lot of the days.  And that's a mega improvement. 

And if I can prove my Mood Monsters wrong in this way, I can't wait to see what I'll be able to do next.

Today's jame: "Towers" by Bon Iver.

(because I listened to it on repeat when I left Bellingham, thus transforming it into my Moving On Song)