Archive: Indie Bloggers

I have been at my new job for a month, or five workweeks, and so far, I think it’s going very well. JG has mentioned that I am noticeably, even visibly, more relaxed than when I was at my previous job and I’m glad that he can detect a change. In many aspects, from my commute to my daily tasks, my current role is preferable. Then, I drove half an hour into the heart of the downtown area; now, I drive half an hour, bypassing downtown, into a scenic locale. Then, I hoped to find a spot in the less sketchy level of the parking lot where I was afraid to venture after dark; now, I park in a large, safe, lit garage. Then, I worked in a gray cubicle along a high-traffic route in my small office; now, I have my own office with a door, a window, and very little foot traffic. Then, my title was Project Coordinator, which I doubt could be any more ambiguous; now, I am a Medical Editor, which immediately conveys both my skill and its context. Then, I supported twenty, absent-minded people with fifteen possible tasks; now, I support people as they come to me with only three possible tasks that are directly related to my skills and education.

To be fair, there are several down sides to the job. I absolutely miss my former co-workers and the ability to IM one of them to share a funny tidbit or commiserate over a frustrating experience. I do not have the opportunity to travel for work. My role lacks the collegiality that can come from having a tangible team. I have to wear real business attire. My 90-day probationary “don’t take any vacation time” period happens to occur during the major holidays, so between October 1 and January 1, I will have only taken off for Thanksgiving Day and Christmas Day. I took a slight pay cut to be here rather than receiving a raise like I had wanted. This week, I killed my second giant cockroach.

Even in that light, this position is so much better for me, professionally and emotionally, that I am able to give up the comfort of camaraderie and the cushion of additional pay without too much struggle. I am part of a rare breed of writing professionals that has a science background and now I finally have the opportunity to edit and write science-based materials. I am a corporate (albeit non-profit) version of a writer in a garret, except that my garret is on the third floor of a research building. In my walk-in closet of an office, where I sit at my desk to mark up a manuscript with the newfound glory of a red pen, lay out a research poster for a national conference, or edit a newsletter to communicate across the organization, I am at my best. There is no residue of fruitless frustration, weighty unhappiness, or strained desperation. The fear I had in taking the unnatural, voluntary risk of leaving my unhealthy, but comfortable, job situation has been replaced by quiet contentment. I am simply confident that I am good at my job and my job is good for me. I am lighter and more mobile because I am no longer wasting my time or energy on activities or tasks that drain me.

It is no wonder that my husband notices a difference in me. I see it, too. I am so grateful for it.

Cross-posted at Indie Bloggers

The wedding JG and I attended last Friday was a good 4-hour drive from our house, so we decided to spend Thursday night at his grandmother’s house so that we’d only have to drive for an hour to get to the wedding. She loves seeing the grandkids and we only get to visit with her about twice a year, so it seemed like a good plan for everyone.

Mimi, as JG and his siblings call their mom’s mom, is the sweetest, quintessential American grandma I have ever had the opportunity to meet. She calls everyone “honey,” happily produces plates of homemade chocolate chip cookies and caramel brownies, and plays a mean golf game, that is, when she is not laid up from shoulder surgery. She is the driving force behind the annual family trip to Ocean City, New Jersey, and she loves to take the girls out shopping after Thanksgiving. Until recently, Mimi worked as the drive-up teller at her local bank branch and she can’t walk into any public place – supermarket, country club, restaurant – without seeing someone who came through her window for a transaction or was related to someone who did. Her house sits on the fringes of what I’m told is a very good golf course and she would often bring out cookies to golfers who were on the tenth hole. Mimi is well-loved by her town and marrying into her umbrella of good will has been really wonderful.

It’s interesting for me to experience a grandparent as I experience Mimi. My own family time was unfortunately laced with obligation. It was our duty to visit, to converse, to have a good time, or else. I was told to be a blessing, not a curse, which would have been just fine if everyone else had followed the same reprimand. I learned to simply show up at family events and stock up my stories for the questions I expected people to ask. If I didn’t have to talk, my mind was elsewhere, resting for the next period of strain, when I would try my best not to embarrass myself, or worse, my parents. Now, as an adult, I marvel at how Mimi makes me feel like an original grandchild. Even more astounding, I am able to fit right into that slot and shuck off the obligation to impress. Mimi just wants me to pull a stool up, tell her what I’ve been doing lately, and talk a little bit louder, into her good ear.

The night we stayed at Mimi’s, I had a terrible time sleeping. I woke up just before 2am after tossing and turning from some strangeness in my stomach, so I got up to read in the next room because JG had the good fortune to be sound asleep. When 6am rolled around and the last page of the book was turned, my stomach was still unsettled. I padded back to JG and whispered that I was going to the kitchen and he murmured back, “Mimi will make you anything you want, so just ask.”

I slid into flip-flops and jeans and made my way up to the kitchen, where Mimi was puttering around with dry ingredients. “Good morning, Mimi,” I said, loudly enough so that it would reach her hearing aid, and she turned, smiling.

“Well, hello, honey! What are you doing up?” I’ve only come for two Thanksgivings and she already knows that I am not among the family’s early risers.

“I wasn’t feeling very well, so I decided to come upstairs.”

Mimi’s already creased face furrowed with concern. “Oh, dear. How about some tea?”

“Tea would be perfect.”

I sat at the island with a steaming mug in my hands and the two of us chatted about the family, upcoming vacations, and whether or not she could go back to the time when she didn’t have those handy digital cable radio stations. I sipped at my tea as Mimi mixed up dough for a new batch of chocolate chip cookies, spraying flour around the counter. My stomach gradually calmed down and I sat in quiet awe at my settled state of mind. I was still physically tired, sure, but talking with Mimi simply made me feel at home. If there was anything I needed after such a restless night, comfort was it. And that’s what Mimi gives people.

Sometimes, your husband will ask how your day was and you can say honestly, “Fine, actually.” Sometimes, your brain is so exerted that you have no words for how much you dreaded driving in, how much you wished the day would end. Sometimes, you’re beyond griping or venting because even you’re tired of the story and it doesn’t quite seem fair to subject someone else to it, again. You might plop on the couch and ask for hug, but when the tension of the day washes over you, you can’t help it that your eyes fill with tears and dot your husband’s shirt. Sometimes, you have too many words for how hard the day was and you sting your husband with the barbs you kept inside for eight hours. You try to explain that you’re not mad at him, but it doesn’t feel that way at all.

Sometimes, you savor the time spent with co-workers because they are funny, smart people who are doing their best. Sometimes, a missed appointment here and a snide comment there will make you vacillate between being irritated and irritating. Raw emotions lie just under the surface, just waiting to burst out at the slightest prod. Sometimes, you say things you don’t mean and make faces you don’t intend. You’re mean. You hurt people.

Sometimes, you know what you’re doing for a living is making a difference and that no one could do the job as well as you do. Sometimes, you wonder if you actually like what you’re doing. You visualize something you’d like to do better and ask yourself if it’s really worth it to put yourself back out in the meat market. Sometimes, you think back to that time after college when the job search was more about survival and benefits than a fulfilling career path. You don’t relish retooling your résumé for every job possibility, tracking your application history, being rejected, and sneaking around to interviews.

Sometimes, it’s just easier to stay in a familiar situation, even if it doesn’t make sense anymore. Sometimes, the comfort of the known is so much more desirable than the craggy overhang of the unknown. Sometimes, you prefer your ergonomic desk chair to jumping off into thin air.

Sometimes, you reach the end of your rope.

And then you dust off the résumé.

I keep finding that no matter how well I think I know JG, he keeps topping himself. It’s not just that his itch to plant grass seed has sprung up earlier than last year. I can overlook the constant monitoring of no less than three unique March Madness brackets, complete with talking smack on the corresponding message boards. Tonight, however, JG hit a new high.

Thanks to one of his oft-read math blogs, JG discovered a source of great pleasure in The Klein Four, an a capella musical group made up of Northwestern University math graduate students. The blog featured a YouTube video of The Klein Four singing their original hit, “Finite Simple Group (of Order Two)”, from their album, Musical Fruitcake. From what I gathered from JG’s exclamations and bursts of laughter, the song lyrics contained a huge number of mathematical references within the context of a romantic relationship. “This is awesome,” he breathed.

JG hopped on the group’s website and became a fan before my very eyes. “Look at these lyrics! So cool! And they have other stuff!” My husband is not an impulse buyer by any means, but within fifteen minutes, he ordered Musical Fruitcake and a geeky-but-ominous t-shirt. JG mused gleefully, “I am totally playing this CD for my kids. They are going to hate it!” He exhibited a surprising level of restraint when he resisted the urge to buy the perfect classroom accessory: the modular wall clock. I’m so proud.

Don’t get me wrong - I could count the number of jokes I understood from the YouTube video on one hand, but I still thought it was clever and funny. Those grad students can actually sing! I mock, but I love that JG loves math so much. I really think it makes him a better teacher for his students and it’s sweet to see him so enthusiastic. Besides, he puts up with me when I wax poetic about how water’s specific heat and polarity make the world go ’round, but that’s another story.

I started typing while JG was finishing up his order of geek merchandise. He turned to me and said, “RA, I’m glad we’re a finite simple group of order two.”

“Um. You know just what to say to make a girl feel good.”

“I do think a simple connected graph with two nodes would be more accurate, but whatever. Let’s always be a finite simple group of order two.”

“Okay.”

“Are you writing about me?”

“… Nope.”

“Are you lying?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t care! I’m a nerd and I’m okay with it!”

Mm hmm. They say acceptance is the first step.