Had my first real job interview a year ago today. What a milestone!
Sometimes I wonder where I would be or what I could've accomplished if I'd chosen or had the opportunity to map a different path, but then I catch myself: I am happy where I am, and incredibly lucky.
Lucky to enjoy my job (despite the occasional frustrating day). Lucky to enjoy the company of my colleagues (makes all the difference when we spend 40 hours a week among the same people). Lucky to be happy (again).
Sunday, April 7, 2013
This piece appeared in my department's quarterly newsletter. I liked it enough to post it here, so enjoy :). Coworker name, city, and a few select details have been changed, but s'all the same apart from that.
|PAFN Field Day 2009
With the urgency of a department newsletter article to produce, I laced up my sneakers and parked my biscuit on one of two treadmills at the Corporate Gym and hoped I would not be joined by anybody I recognize. I normally wouldn’t subject my acquaintances to the cruel misfortune of witnessing me sweating it out in workout attire, but I am willing to sacrifice some dignity for my fellow [people who work in my department]ers … By visiting the gym when I assumed most people had already left the office for the day.
I waited, of course, until the New Year’s resolutionists had lost most of their fervency before I paid a visit because I refuse to engage in the cumbersome acrobatics of changing in a narrow bathroom stall only to find both treadmills occupied, and so have nothing to do but lift weights for five minutes before I would inexorably succumb to boredom and drive home. (Alternatively, one could, of course, change in the more commodious bathroom stall if it is otherwise unoccupied, but I was not so lucky during my visit.)
Gym time is my one holy hour of solitude. I’m a member of [local gym] and go out of my way to steer clear of people I know at the gym because I prefer to exercise anonymously. For example, I avoid [local gym] location near by old high school in Falls Church – where teachers I recognize and snooty LBCers do yoga – whenever possible. Instead, I go to the location in my city of residence so I can workout happily among strangers. Bonus: No pressure to socialize (“My, what biceps you have!”), and I am familiar enough with the idiosyncrasies of the regulars to avoid the notoriously loud grunters, and obnoxious arm-flailers.