A field guide to growing up without growing apart
So this whole working for my dad thing is complicated. The major things are great. We get along ridiculously well and when we get home we don’t bolt to opposite corners of the house. My mom isn’t too jealous of the time we spend together […]
Naughty Princesses Assemble! We’ve been at this whole blogging thing for a few months now (so far so good??) and I figured it was time you folks learned a bit more about the four of us and why we go by the pseudonyms we do! […]
I’ve had a job for three months.
It’s a great job. It pays well, I’m not micromanaged, I’ve learned a bunch of new programs; I can show up at 10 or work through lunch and if the roads are seriously covered in snow I can even work from home. My coworkers are helpful, I’ve got my own space heater and since my dad is pretty much my boss I never have to worry if he likes me. Not to mention the tiny confidence boost I get knowing that I am one of four girls in the entire office building (counting the two secretaries). But guys, as great as this engineering job seems, I’m freaking out.
You know how in movies the attractive male lead always has some rule like no dating past two weeks or cut and run after a month? Well it’s like that for me and jobs. I have NEVER had a job more than 3 months. Maybe it’s just worked out that way or maybe it’s an issue I have with commitment… but for whatever reason it has never happened. I had sporadic summer jobs throughout high school and college and since graduation that trend has only continued. This past year I coached basketball, got an internship, took care of my grandpa and this summer I worked as a counselor – something I’ve always wanted to do. Seasonal jobs just fit me, and every time I had the option to renew I bailed to try something new. So afraid was I to do the same thing twice that this fall I moved home and landed here, in a real person job, not really realizing what I’d gotten myself into.
So here I am, working a desk job, with no end in sight. Here, there aren’t tasks that can be completed in a week, or even a month. There aren’t projects that I get to call my own. There isn’t a rotating crop of people I get to meet or a celebratory party I can look forward to when we secure a client. This is real job, one where I show up, sit at a desk, and work until the clock strikes 5 (sometimes 6 if I sleep in). I photo copy things and look up keyboard shortcuts so I can move faster, I eat lunch at my desk because that is what everyone else does. I even have my own desk phone. This is a real job and one millions of people will emulate every day for the rest of their lives.
But what if that isn’t me? When did I agree to become this person? Who am I to think I deserve more than this? Why does doing the same thing every day scare me to the bone? Is movement really such an unreasonable thing to ask?
Back in college our classes changed every 10 weeks and our schedules were always unpredictable. Deadlines were the name of the game and 1st and lasts became standard. We learned to thrive on change and find some balance even though the ground under us was moving. But now only a year out, everything has already become so settled. My friends have long-term jobs, long-term relationships, and long-term leases; they’re making long-term choices and accepting long-term commitments. All those deadlines and pivot points I used to rely on have melted away, and now when I look to my future I see only an empty calendar. No graduation, no finals, no move, no last week of work. I don’t even have a concert or wedding or a vacation booked to look forward to.
But I shouldn’t complain; half of my friends work Saturday nights and either can’t get someone to switch or are so broke they’d rather work than take it off for a concert. The others are so overloaded they get home and pass out in front of the tv or before they can even make dinner. I know, I’ve got it good. A few more months here will be worth it; experience, recommendations, pay check – there are a hundred reasons why I should stay. But what does it mean when I find myself scanning Craigslist or Googleing travel visas over lunch? Am I unhappy enough to warrant a change? Where do I draw the line between what is good for me now and what will be good for me later?
I’m fine. I know I am and I know I will be. It’s part of being 20-something to question yourself, and when I start to get scared I take a deep breath and remind myself the not knowing is a good thing. I still have plenty of change ahead of me, even if it seems like everyone else is set. My empty calendar means I have all the time in the world to figure out what I want, and all the time in the world to make anything happen. 3 months is nothing.
Wow. Where to start… The last week has been insanely hard on me. My feet are covered in blisters, I can barely keep my eyes open, and there were moments where I felt so inconsequential it was heart breaking. But this week was also incredible; […]
Hello! This week’s post is going to be short and sweet (a rarity for me…), since I’m fresh off a fantastic weekend with our favorite Merskank and I’m flat out exhausted. It was WONDERFUL to have a fellow princess come stay (especially one who suggests […]
If you haven’t gotten the point by now; I’m loving living at home. There are tons of expected perks (free food, rent, an endless supply of craft supplies) but there have been even more unexpected ones too, like my mother waking up early to hug me goodbye in the morning and my dad’s spontaneous engineering projects (let’s see what we can build from only craigslist materials!). Hell I don’t even do much laundry and sometimes they slip me a 20 just for being around. Yup, life is good, and there ain’t no way I’m moving out anytime soon. So I was all the more surprised when my dad caught me off guard the other night with a bit of bad news.
“Sleeping Booty,” he said (okay he didn’t really call me that, but go with me here). “Sleeping Booty, so can I tell you what’s really been making me stressed this week?” It was about 11:30pm on a Thursday, and we were just leaving The Pub, the place he and his basketball team have gone after every game for the last 20 years. I’ve gone watched him play for as long as I can remember, but in the last few years I’ve started tagging along to sip a few beers with my team of crazy uncles and hear stories about the good old days. This time they spent most of the night giving me crap for living at home and working with my dad, but we also got to hear some sordid stories from “El Postido,” their 55-year-old Latino point guard who’s only a few months from retiring from his 30 year run as a mail-man(hence Postido). It’s an outstanding group, and I know that they’re still together is one of the greatest joys of my dad’s life.
I was apprehensive as I nodded and waited for him to finish. I knew he’d had a rough week writing employee reviews, but in his slightly intoxicated state I was worried what he’d reveal. “My health,” he said defeated, “it’s not as good as I want it to be.” Guys, let me tell you, that is the worst sentence you can ever utter to your family and one of the scariest to hear. I held it together because I wanted to know what was going on, but had I been the one drinking instead of him I would have lost it, most likely taking off in a full on sprint.
Thankfully, it isn’t the worst case scenario like I thought. He’s more worried about the general pitfalls of getting older and letting down his team. He hurt his hand in a game last week and is afraid to tell the guys the swelling hasn’t gone down. He also has been having neck problems that just won’t quit and when he turns his head certain ways the nerves in his arm tingle.
Now really, he’s fine; no cancer, no degeneration, no hospitals. But this idea of my father generally wearing out hit a nerve with me. And it didn’t help that I had just read an article about taller people’s likelihood of dying young. My mind raced the entire car ride home, what if he has a stroke and has to relearn everything? What if he can’t be active with his friends? What if my kids don’t get to meet him? When did I start worrying about him like I am responsible?
I know I’m overreacting; his dad is a few days from celebrating his 99th birthday for crying out loud. He’s probably going to be the bane of my existence until I’m 75. Really, I’ve got nothing to worry about.
But I’m starting to understand why my mom is still so upset about her dad’s death a few months ago. A world without my dad just seems unacceptable, like it wouldn’t function properly. What would his friends do? How would they replace him at work? Why would I ever get out of bed? It is hard to imagine all the people that wouldn’t get to know him.
Maybe I would be better off taking the ‘out of sight out of mind’ approach, moving out and just hearing about the highlights over the phone. He’s had knee trouble before, and I didn’t worry at all; it sure is easier that way. But this time I’m front and center and he’s got no time to hide or distance to soften the blows. Even with my mom things are different, suddenly I’m ‘great at keeping secrets’ and ‘just the person’ she can say things to. I never used to be the one she shared things with, but now I’m mostly grown, trying to help with things I never expected. I like it, but sometimes, you know, I’m just dealing with things way beyond my maturity level. This is a whole new dynamic, seeing a vulnerable side to my parents, one that I’m not sure I’m ready for.
So when did I become 24, watching my dog hop around on 3 paws, hearing about my mother’s insecurities and seeing the tears in my dad’s eyes as he thinks about letting down his team? Living at home is hard, and part of my wants to go back to just being their daughter (much more time to listen to my 90’s albums). But then again, I know I’m going to look back on this in a few years and be so glad I spent this time with my parents. Because for the first time I’m getting to know them as people and not just the caretakers I used to need.
p.s. El Postido totally got invited in by an open-robed postal patron. Rumors have to come from somewhere.
I’m just going to come right out and say it. I was my parents’ DD last night. Yup, you read that right, DD as in Designated Driver (Sober Soldier, Chaste Chauffeur, Timid Transporter, Glum Guide, Boring Betsy… did I just get carried away?) I, a […]
It’s finally here! November! The best month of the year! Anything can happen! The day when we can all come together and make a difference in our world. Yes, of course, it is time for our first ever Condition of the Month! From here on […]
I never look at who I sit next to on the bus. Some people ask for permission to sit, some people evaluate their options before settling on the lessor evil, some people even play musical chairs hopping from seat to seat as better options open up. But not me, I just don’t choose at all. The first seat I can get to I take. That way I never have to know if I’m sitting next to someone I should feel bad for or be afraid of; I never have to know if the bag they’re holding is alive or if their sniffles are due to allergies. Hell, one time I didn’t even know the person next to me had a dog until he stood up. I like to treat every seatmate with the same courtesy, little to no contact. So when the guy I was sitting next to on the bus a few weeks ago said something to me, I hadn’t even looked at him before I started to reply.
The man, or so I assumed from the voice, had offered to move so one of my friends could sit down with me. Looking to see who he meant, I saw, of course, the only one of my coworkers left standing was Mike, the guy I’d been avoiding all day. With a sly smile on my face I turned back to my seatmate and told him that Mike liked to stand.
My voice trailed off as my eyes registered the absurd attractiveness of the man sitting next to me. I blinked a few extra times to make sure he was even real. This boy was swoon worthy; like really, really ridiculously good looking; like the kind of attractive you never see on buses, much less get to sit next to. His white smile stood out against his warm brown skin and his arms gave me flashes of how far he could throw me. In my haze I even thought he might be a celebrity. This guy was out of my league. 
He took out his head phones and laughed as I fumbled to explain why Mike didn’t deserve a seat. I smiled nervously as I described how crowded this bus is usually so Mike was used to having to stand. “And besides,” I told him, “between you and me, he deserves it.”
It felt good to be mean to Mike out loud; he and I had gotten too flirtatious earlier in the week and I was in the process of trying to distance myself from him and his live in girlfriend. I’d managed a day long boycott of meaningful glances and inappropriate confessions, so sitting next to him was not an option.
But before I knew it my seat mate and I were talking, like really talking. We were laughing and flirting and teasing and sharing. The first time he elbowed me I’m pretty sure my heart stopped. The second time I pushed right back. When he asked about my future I was candid and when I asked about his family he was sentimental. I turned back to look at Mike once or twice, hoping he’d see me flirting. I was eager to make him jealous, like he and his ‘stale’ girlfriend had made me. But if he was he didn’t let on, so I closed my eyes and fortified myself, turning back to my new guy to move on. And move on I did.
He told me about where he grew up; I talked about the Mormon values that had rubbed off on me. He asked about my job; I questioned him about his roommates. He complained about the heat; I told him I belong to the mountains. I haven’t clicked that well with a stranger in years.
When I confessed that I fall asleep on the bus frequently he balked, teasing that if he fell asleep on the bus some tall girl would try to swipe his wallet. I didn’t miss a beat when I said how smooth my moves were but I repeated his words over again in my head as we bantered. Tall girl, he’d said, meaning me, though I was sitting. A few minutes later he brought it up again, calling me tall girl like it was my name, like it was a compliment. It was, I suppose, but to hear it out loud like that was jarring; I didn’t know what to make of it. If he had called me beautiful I would have shut off, knowing he was just throwing me lines and playing the pick-up game, but complimenting me with the words tall girl wasn’t something I could really fault him for. It showed he paid attention and wasn’t afraid of teasing me; that he liked me but wasn’t trying to be too forward. And as odd as it was, the line worked.
I lost track of time, fully focusing on the palpable tension. I didn’t even notice Mike get off at his stop. When he asked what I was doing later my stomach knotted. Fuck, I thought. I’m in trouble now; if he asked for my number I’d have to give it. He hadn’t messed up. He’d deftly avoided all my traps and even after a half hour of deep conversation there wasn’t a red flag in sight. If I couldn’t reward that with at least a phone number then what was I waiting for? He was a perfect, interested, available guy and all I wanted was to jump off at the next stop and run.
I was grateful when he didn’t ask, though he made it clear where he’d be if I’d like to join him lounging in the Seattle park-again deftly finagling his way through my minefield. And just when I was inches away from agreeing to spend an hour with him, I thought of Mike. I thought of his girlfriend, of their boring, mediocre life together and how sad I felt for him. And for the first time all summer I didn’t want to save him from it. I smiled to myself and knew that I’d never really wanted all of Mike. And that all I wanted to do that Friday night was hang out at home alone.
As my stop approached my bus date thanked me and wished me the best, reminding me to keep an eye out for him. I did the same, giving him one last smile before standing to leave. I didn’t turn back as he watched his tall girl walk away. After all, I don’t look at people I sit next to on buses.
Alright, I’m just going to lay it all out there. I moved back in with my parents and am an unemployed college graduate with no plan. There. Now you know. A few weeks ago I would have stretched the truth and told you that I […]
Greetings Blogosphere! How goes it?! I’m Sleeping Booty and I’ll be your author today(and every 2nd Thursday from here on out) and I can barely contain how excited I am to get rolling on this project. It’s been a long year since graduation, and I’m […]