Sorry for the delay, people. I’ve been sick.
Being sick is totally overrated, by the way. I always think it would be fun to sit on the couch and watch TV all day, until that’s all I can do. Then I’m distracted by how messy my house is and depressed that I barely have the energy to open the Sudafed package, let alone load the dishwasher.
Also, taking sick days is stressful for me. I always worry that I’m not sick enough, or that maybe I’ll use up all my sick days and then get something awful like meningitis and have to go to work anyway because I don’t have anymore sick days left. It’s called a scarcity mindset, people.
I first learned about sick days at my “starter job”, a.k.a. my first job after graduating from college. My first job after college was as a receptionist at a real-estate office. I was responsible for 6 phone lines that served 60 agents, and my ability to discern which property the caller was interested in and then route the call to the correct agent was the whole ball game. Agents depended on me to be the conduit through which interested buyers found them, and vice versa.
You would think that the importance of this role would thrill me, and that the knowledge that I held the very livelihoods of 60 individuals (and their families) in my capable hands would empower me to apply myself fully to the task every day.
I hated it. Like, haaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyted it.
I was proud, you see, and consistently impressed by how overqualified I was to sort mail for people with less education than I had. I often read the newspaper or a book (probably would have watched Hulu, if it had existed then) at the same time that I was supposedly assisting clients. I played favorites; the agents who brought me donuts and slurpees got more referrals than those who asked me to dust their workstations. I gossiped. I was bitter and confused and lonely and resentful, and sometimes woke up in the middle of the night sweaty and terrified that this haunting feeling of “not working up to my potential” was going to be my life forever. I made bad coffee on purpose. Those were dark days.
Of course, despite hating my job with the righteous passion of a thousand blazing suns, I totally sucked at it. I felt so personally aggrieved at the injustice of my situation that I simply refused to make the effort.
Feeling like I lacked any form of legitimate power, I sought power illegitimately, through my stubborn resistance and petulant critique of everything to do with the organization.
Of course, this ensured that I was not given any more exciting or important responsibilities, which then increased my level of antagonism and inner fury.
This is the beautiful cycle of self-sabotage that I like to call:
“The New Professional’s Flame-Out.”
Very few escape this nearly irresistibly attractive temptation.
At one point, I was journaling my angst and frustration and I caught myself writing this line: “I hate everything about my life, and I mean EVERYTHING. But, I love the woman I am becoming.”
It’s true. I wrote that. I’ll show it to you, if you want.
I couldn’t help but acknowledge that through the “indignity” of my situation, I was realizing things about myself that I wanted to change, and also being given the opportunity to work on changing them.
Through the groaning boredom and perceived lack of respect that I experienced, I recognized that my attitude towards my situation was maturing into something like perseverance.
Through exposure to professionals of various backgrounds and persuasions, I became convinced of the importance of tolerance for people and processes that are different from mine.
Through the relentless demands for attention to detail, I learned how critical seemingly insignificant elements can be to a successful operation.
Through the gracious inadvertence of my supervisors, I was allowed to internalize valuable lessons about authority and integrity that I regularly draw upon to this day.
Obviously, since then I have also realized a few things.
1) There is no excuse for not doing your job as it’s defined.
2) If you ever want to get promoted, see #1.
I think about that first job all the time. Not a day goes by that I don’t draw upon some lesson of diplomacy or recall a certain truth about human nature that I can directly trace back to an experience I had at that office. Not to mention that I can still calculate points and closing costs in my head. Cool party trick.
I’m more thankful for that first job than I can say, because more than any job I’ve had since, it taught me the most about myself. So thanks, sick day, for reminding me of that. And now for more Nyquil………..