Work It

I worked at XX from September 17, 2001 until November 16, 2007. 6+ years of my life. A longer tenure than high school or college, a longer span than any intimate relationship or serious commitment held prior.
If there’s one piece of advice every young professional should receive, is that he/she shouldn’t spend more than two years at a first job. When you do you never understand your full potential, never truly know if you are doing a good job at your profession or if you are simply doing a good job where you work. And there is a BIG difference.
I recently left the only grownup job I have ever known with mixed results. On the one hand, I was miserable at my previous company – aching for more responsibility, yet not seeking such an important role there. Quitting was one of the most rewarding days of my life – the day I finally let go of the hold of an ultra-controlling boss and the day I finally decided I was in charge of my own professional fate. It was freeing, satisfying, and undeniably ego-boosting.
It has now been two months since I left said job and I am now settled into the new one – the one my current bosses OFFERED me (this was a first for me, as I previously only interviewed as an entry-level candidate). Much of me loves it – loves the newfound responsibilities and excitement that accompanies this role. Yet the other half of me is worried that I have still not found – or accepted – my real calling. After all, I am a publicist once more, working in a profession I said I would never do again.
Most – if not all – days, I enjoy it. But every so often, like today, I am filled with this overwhelming feeling that something is amiss. That my creative side is being quelled in favor of a career that I may or may not even want. It’s a tricky predicament, a confusing and anxious sentiment that I can’t quite come to terms with yet.
And that’s why I urge young people never to stay at a company for more than 700 or so days, as you will ultimately find yourself confused, exhausted, and unsatisfied. Miles away from the dreams you had when you first finished college.
In other words: I get a paycheck; I like my job; but I have not yet discovered what it is I am supposed to work as/for during my life.

Was Lost...Now FOUND

No, I'm not dead, but I have been incredibly awful about posting.

Not entirely sure why…but here’s my attempt at an explanation.

Ever since I got my new job, I have not only been caught up in actual work (during my tenure at my last gig I was so fucking bored that I would spend most of my time bullshitting online and/or commenting on gawker) but have found myself less inclined to write. That saddens me a bit. I'm happy that I have found something to keep me properly entertained - and PAID - all day, but am disheartened at the fact that I have no overwhelming compulsion to air my dirty laundry and say my peace via this blog.

Some of me sees nothing wrong with this - chalks it up to finally being satisfied on a daily basis and free of the desire to seek something more.

And yet, that's exacly what the other part of me is sickened by - the thought that a demanding job is leaving me free of seeking something more.

It's true that I come home much happier than I did before, end my days without feeling that I may have wasted my day. Yet much of my recent time as a copywriter left me hungry to write the prose dictated by ME - not that which was demanded by a client. And now that no one is insisting I write, I feel less inclined to search for what it is I am really yearning to say.

Practically speaking, I haven't been able to blog. Ever since I moved into Mr. Ella's apartment I haven't had an internet connection. But now I do. He bought me a laptop this Christmas and now I have no technical excuses. If I want to blog, I can. So you can’t blame me too much for being absent – it’s been a full 4 months since I’ve had a computer at home (and no, I never blog at work).

But I cannot stop there. After all, there are two other excuses for me not writing.

Number One: My future father-in-law is likely reading this.

So here’s the deal. When I was published in Time Out New York, my proud (and somewhat overzealous) boyfriend told his parents about my column. His father ended up reading my article which, in and of itself, isn’t all that bad. However, whether you read a hard copy or an online version of my article, you are left with an address that sends you to this blog. Because it’s always been an anonymous blog, I had no problem listing it in the byline. But I never thought it would be read by anyone as important as my (hopefully) future father-in-law. Now while most of my recent posts have been tame, many of my earlier ones are extremely explicit – written when I was writing for a completely faceless and nameless audience. Knowing that people know who I am has rendered me
near-silent, unsure of whether I can truly post the intimate thoughts I really want to.

Number Two: My private life is much more precious to me.
For the first time in - ok maybe - ever, I am absolutely, 100% in love. This blog was created – in a large part – to write about experiences that (while I am not ashamed of) were never important enough NOT to write about. But now I find myself in a relationship, a real grownup relationship that is becoming so sacred, I don’t really want to discuss the intimate details. However I worry that such prose is precisely what my (albeit few) readers expect, and that without hot and heavy stories about sex, they will find themselves bored and with little reason to come back. After all, my voice thus far has largely been appreciated for the candor in which I have approached my sexuality, the frankness in which I have shared stories that most of us keep private.
Now that I don’t have such tales, what should I write about? Politics? Celebrities? Religion? I’d like to, but I’m not sold on the fact that anyone will be reading.