For whatever reason, I am not a fan of nicknames, especially for myself. They’re actually a big pet peeve of mine. Granted, some full names are ugly, awkward or just weird sounding but I’d still generally prefer to use them. If you like your nickname, that’s great. Let me know what to call you and I’ll do my best to remember. But don’t assume I care for mine.
I have always hated being called Tiff. As a child, the name just sounded dumb. I felt I should twist my hair around my finger and pop some gum. Now, I don’t think every Tiff is stupid, silly, whatever. I just personally preferred to be called by my full name. My parents named me Tiffany and I like it. In elementary school, it bothered me so much that the boys would call me Tiff, wait for me to get mad and yell Fanny. Okay, okay. It was pretty clever. Moving on…
Nicknames are innocent enough but I always found it interesting that people naturally assume you’d prefer to be called by a nickname of their choosing. The most common nicknames are short for whatever your “real” name is. Others are based on your personality or some shared event. Okay, okay. They can be terms of endearment BUT I still don’t feel anyone who meets me can/should feel comfortable enough to assume anything about me, like what I’d like to be called. This might all have something to do with the unattractive nicknames I’ve been given in the past like Urkelina on the junior high volleyball team but still. Anyway, I can’t help that one. I was tall, skinny, awkward with glasses and no one could remember that Steve Urkel’s cousin was actually named Mrytle…
The nickname assumption bothers me more in the workplace. Maybe it’s because I’m more concerned with being taken seriously or because I’m not always feeling automatically friendly in the office. Either way, I always notice it there. I generally don’t say anything because it’s not worth the drama but I notice. I generally like to call people whatever name they use to introduce themselves. Another good rule to follow in the office is to call people whatever name they use to sign their emails. If you’re nickname is just a respectable shortening of your real name and not some character assessment like “Smiley”, you should be fine. If you’re Fredrick and say Fred, Fred it is. But if you’re Angelica and don’t sign Angel or Angie, Angelica it is. I just ask that people follow that same rule with me. But I realize that might be asking too much (especially since I have a tendency to over-think these types of things) so I’ll just continue getting used to Tiff. If I don’t correct you or slightly grimace, you’re probably safe.
A few months ago, I went to lunch with a few co-workers. (I still had them at that time. 🙂 ) I believe it was somebody’s birthday lunch of something. Normal chit-chat, ordering, blah, blah, blah. As the food arrived, I noticed something. As I bowed my head to pray before eating, I noticed the other 4-5 people around the table also had their heads bowed. Only they weren’t praying, they were all checking their phones.
Now, I don’t always pray before eating, sleeping, traveling or any of the other established times to pray. Nor do I expect everyone to pray before their meals. So it’s not that I’m judging those not praying at that particular time. I just thought it was interesting that text messages, voicemails, email, Facebook and/or Twitter updates have replaced thanking God for the food we’re about to receive in a social setting.
Maybe everyone around that table falls guilty to my forgetful prayers. Or it’s not important to them. It’s not my place to say or determine what is important to others. I’m still trying to figure out what is for myself. I have to admit that most of the time my text messages and tweets take precedence over bowing my head in prayer. It’s just interesting that bowed heads around a table can mean such different things. Thanking a higher power or the absolute drive to stay connected. New social norms. Praying in public can make other people feel uncomfortable or guilty. But incessantly checking your phone is just fine. Present company be damned. It’s obviously not engaging enough.
Dear Lord, I would like to thank you for the text message I’m about to receive…
As of about 10:30 am tomorrow morning, I will have been unemployed for two weeks. I know that that is not monumental in the grand scheme of things and that countless people have been unemployed much longer and with worse prospects, but nevertheless, it’ll be two weeks closer to truly running out of money.
I’ve been told to enjoy this time, to really look for something that makes me happy, to see this as a blessing in disguise, etc. Yes, this COULD be a good thing but no words you can throw at me are going to fix my current situation. The only thing that can is a new job. So I’m looking. And as frustrating as this looking can be/has been, I can’t help but wonder why I hadn’t heeded the advice of others to begin looking months ago.
As I’ve said, this lay off was disappointing but not an overall surprise. I believe know that I am a quality employee but if the work’s not there, the money’s not there. My situation is proof that being assigned solely to one team in an agency setting can be a blessing in busy times and nothing short of a curse in slow times. The saddest part is that I can’t even say that I’ve learned a lesson. I saw this coming months ago and was terrified but all I could do was ask for more work. If it’s not sent my way from above, there’s nothing I can do about it. Oh well, their lose, whether they know it or not. At this point, it does me no good to concern myself with such details.
But the question still remains, if I saw this coming, why didn’t I prepare for it? Why didn’t I get out? Or at least start looking? Honestly, I don’t really know. Starting to look made it feel like I was giving up, giving up on that job, that company, the three years I’d put in. I wasn’t ready to admit defeat or ,worse, becoming stagnant.
I love(d) the company that hired me. My first year our office was positively glowing. Sure, clients were crazy, executives were “interesting”, people left, interns changed, and the like, but we were 40+ strong, young, talented, and driven. Working 9-10 hour days didn’t seem like a problem. Chivis and I were excited if we could make the 6:15 pm Body Pump class at Gold’s Gym. Sometimes the 6:45 class was still a stretch but we were busy and, more importantly, learning.
I’ll never speak ill of my company because I still love it for taking a chance on my, hiring me from a phone interview, embracing me with open arms, throwing me in with guidance when needed, and obviously paying me to learn. But I will say that the magic started to slowly fade. As our ranks shrank, so did our obnoxious morale. Between the near 65% staff decrease, clients leaving, an awkward merger, my entire team leaving at once, my next boss leaving 6 months later, two rounds of lay offs and my obviously questionable billability, I knew it was only a matter of time and I was afraid I didn’t have the heart to really fight to convince myself anymore.
So what kept me from moving on on my own terms, the best way? I believe I started to confuse (or mask) loyalty with laziness. It’s very true that I wasn’t ready to “give up” on this company. But that didn’t mean I believed it felt the same way about me. Do I believe it was an easy choice to let me go? I hope not but I can’t really say. And honestly, it doesn’t matter if it was. It happened just the same. I just don’t know if I stayed despite the paranoia, the numbers and the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach becuase I believed it would get better or because I hoped it just wouldn’t get worse (for me). I think I was just hoping I could close my eyes and it would all go away. Well, it did all go away, just not the way I was hoping. My eyes are WIDE OPEN now.
Reminding herself that busy and useful aren’t always the same thing,
Okay, okay. Something a little more serious. Oh, classic Mariah, brunette, seemingly sane, fully equip with choir and everything. “Anytime You Need a Friend”
Earlier this summer, I had the opportunity to hang out with two friends from Nashville in Chicago (confused yet?). I’ve known one of the ladies since 7th grade and the other since 9th, 13 and 11 years consecutively. Those numbers seem like an eternity to a 25 year old. Just knowing someone for 3 years sounds like a significant amount of time. Over 2 years? Okay, you’re verified as a friend. What does more than a decade mean?
If you were lucky/unlucky enough to live in one area and attend area schools your entire elementary education, you may have people you’ve realistically known since kindergarten. I don’t mean to take anything away from those people but since I didn’t, 7th grade would have to be my longest maintained relationship and it sounds pretty significant to me.
These ladies have known me for (nearly) half of my life. They’ve seen me fight, cry, yell, stare, run, and smile. We’ve seen each other through puberty, AP tests, custody battles, puppy love, first loves, college applications, driver’s licenses, parties, prom, and leaving all of that behind for college. We fell apart during those college years, casually seeing each other when we were all back home but it was never the same. And as sad as that realization may have been, there was still something that made us come back together (hoping). I always wondered what that was exactly. Obviously, we’d all changed and no longer had the classroom to force us together. What was it that made me still call her “my friend”? And actually mean it?
Spending that evening together made me realize what it might be. Intoxicated by wine, nostalgia, good food and ridiculous conversations, we quickly moved past the awkward “so how have you been over the last X years?” Within the time of a rerun of Family Matters, we were back in the place of giddy adolescents. Sure, we’ve all changed, grown up, gotten master’s degrees or “real jobs”, physically filled out, moved past pimples and onto real relationships, taken on new responsibilities and the like. BUT we also all loved not having to worry about that in each other’s company. We reverted to gossiping, giggling, smart-ass 15-year-olds, fueled by slumber party antics. Just trying to take a group picture at the end of the night was a monumental feat. We simply could not stop laughing. And it felt SO good. 🙂 Laughing at nothing but ourselves.
Anyway, that evening made me realize why we should, or at least why I still do, hold onto these types of friendships for so long. It’s not because these people really play a big role in your life now. I’m not saying they’re not important or that they couldn’t reclaim their roles of indispensable friends. It’s just that your life operates just fine without their daily/weekly/monthly interaction. But when you are with them you can become a person you haven’t been for a long time, since you really knew each other. You get to not be a “real” grown up. You get to talk about gossip, not just politics, outfits, not just bills, crushes, not just relationships, life, not just drama. These are the people that knew you when you didn’t know any better AND still liked you. These are the friends who knew you pre-filter, pre-adult judgment, pre-responsibilities, pre-grown up.
All other friends I’ve made since these ladies and our core/clique have known me in some part of my transition from child to adult. Sure, these types of “pure” friendships are possible with people you meet past the age of , say, 16. But they require a type of trust we learn to not give so freely as we get older. For that reason, there may never be anything like the relationships you have/had with the people who knew the child who knew everything, rather than the adult who realizes they know very little.
Thankful people still liked me when I didn’t know any better,
Beautiful song. The live performance is even better than the album. But I’m just not here yet. Do I have to be?
India.Aire “Ready for Love”
Vodpod videos no longer available.
So I’ve written a lot about being single/alone/lonely lately. And while I have no new stories to tell to change any of that, I started thinking about something and would love to hear what you think. Is it possible to rebound from being single?
Context: A number of friends of mine are newly single. (The term newly is relative to the person and how long they were in a relationship.) A group of us are in fact celebrating “Single Ladies Night” or something like that this weekend. Each one of these newly singled people have experienced a rebound period. Now, I understand that technically everyone is a rebound after your first [fill in the blank] but for the purpose of this post, let’s consider a rebound to be the traditional possible-mistake-fun-temporary-distraction-from-your-loneliness-attractive person.
We often tell ourselves that rebounds are acceptable as long as you recognize them as being just that, something to make yourself feel better and to eventually move past. Okay, okay. You get out of a relationship. You get to “play around” for a while. That’s simple enough. But what’s it called when you’re reintroducing yourself to the possibility of the opposite sex (or same, whatever works for you) after a not-so-brief hiatus? Are you allowed to rebound from a long-term relationship with yourself?
That question may sound odd but stick with me. Of course, as with everything on this blog, this question is intensely personal, but I think it’s a valid question for discussion. Let’s say you have someone who’s avoided any type of more than platonic relationship for, say, 2 years or more. And let’s also add that that person’s no longer of college age or mentality. Does this person have to jump into something, date with a higher purpose, or put any other such limitations on themselves? Can they just treat this time as a rebound period to eventually move past?
Leaving perpetual singledom, a place with total control of your actions, emotions and circumstances, can be scary if not handled delicately. Is there room for working your way back in, the kiddie pool of dating? Yeah, that sounds about right; shallow, instantly warmer than the big pool and no need for the assistance of a ladder out.
Of course, no one should enter a relationship prematurely, just because it sounds like the “adult” thing to do. But if you’re not emotionally scarred, do you have an excuse to be selfish, blinded by temporary intrigue, or even, heaven forbid, opportunistic? I’m not saying I’ve done any of this…. But I’m also not saying I’m not capable. IF (yes, big if) a long-term single were to partake in some temporary intrigue, can you call it a rebound? Or are there other choice terms they’d be labeled with?
In my current unemployed daze, I started cleaning my room and came across a photo of myself and 7 of my 8 roommates from my semester in Florence (Firenze), Italy 4 years ago. Yes, I had 8 roommates in one not-large apartment with 5 bedrooms. Luckily (or not surprisingly), I was the only person that had their own room. I got there first, it was the only one ready, I offered to switch but no one took me up on it…
Of course, I took this photo as a perfect reason to stop whatever I was doing and reminisce. I’m unemployed. I should just live the middle-class, uninspired, quarterlife-crisis happening American’s dream and backpack around Europe (again). But being pragmatic and a month and a half away from absolutely broke, I didn’t linger on this fantasy very long. However, I did try to remember what it was like to live in Florence, the sounds, the smells, the foods, the people, the school, the market, the mosquito nets…
Aside from the expected culture shock and complete lack of disposable income, I had a great time. In the most cliche way, that semester made me feel like I could be a grown up and I started to toy with the idea of being able to really do this, really living abroad. Pack up and become more concerned with a passport than a state driver’s licence. I liked just being classified as an American, not as black, or middle class, or a Southerner, or the product of a broken marriage, or a preacher’s kid, or whatever social constructions I use to identify myself at any given time. Of course those things would still matter, but I now how had this larger title AMERICAN to identify and/or argue with.
However, I had another title that I wasn’t prepared for. So growing up in the US, Tennessee and going to school in Iowa, I’ve never been the ideal of beauty. Real beauty is petite, buxom and blonde. Real beauty has blue or green eyes, gets curly perms and pays to tan. Real beauty looked like Britney, not Beyonce. Not to go too extreme, the US is a melting pot and values melting pot beauty but if we were to identify one true ideal for the nation as a whole it would not have an excess of melanin. It’s just the truth.
I happened to room with 4 wonderful, very different looking and acting white women from Iowa State. I respect these women and hate to reduce them to physical descriptions but it’s necessary to make my point. We had a short, cutsy sorority girl, an athletic, artsy blond, a shorter, fuller diva and a commanding, self-assured amazon. And then there was me, I guess I’d describe myself as a tall, sassy black girl. We were nearly as different as possible.
In Iowa (or just about anywhere else in US), I would not have been the 1st, 2nd or even 3rd person someone would look at in our group. However, in Florence, to my surprise (and that of some of my roommates…), I was often the object of attention. How odd it was to be walking to class through the market and hear “Brown Sugar, Can I love you?” in a thick Italian accent. Well of course you can’t but thanks. 🙂 Cat calls were strange to me. At home, it only seemed to be dirty old men I could easily dismiss. Here, not so much. It seems that brown was exotic in Florence. Blondes were typical. Every American, British and Australian exchange student looked like my roommates. Italy gave me a little ego boost. 🙂 And to make things even better, I didn’t look my best. Here I was getting more attention than ever before and I didn’t have access to a hairdresser or my entire wardrobe. Who knew?
And I have to give it the Italian men. They were not shy but they were also not all that annoying. Yes, I definitely heard some things that would make a less brown person blush and some of the guys would follow you around. But unlike at home, once they got the message that it wasn’t going to go anywhere, rather than get pissed or hurt, they simply turned in one direction or another in search of the next female. You don’t want me? Ok. She might. And I’m off…
I also have to note that there were quite a few male African immigrants out during the day. At any tourist spot, you’d find men selling random knock offs on sheets for easy pick up. I later found out that there were quite a few African immigrant women as well. It just so happens that they are the popular choice for prostitution. I can’t say for sure if this is true but my sources led me to believe that Italian men had no problem paying for a little brown sugar and in fact, preferred it. Supporting that remark, I was visiting a friend, my wife actually, in Rome and as I was walking back to the hostel, four cars pulled over to ask how much. It’s important to understand that I was in a hoody, jeans and tennis shoes. Rather than be offended, all I could do was think how our “girls” are being played in the states. Of course, I didn’t but I could’ve gotten some business in comfortable clothes while they’re suffering in spandex, stilettos and fishnets…
Anyway, the whole point of this story was the fact that I had to get out of the country to recognize my melting pot attraction, whether I was the one leading myself to believe it didn’t exist or not. I’m not saying that I’m horrendous and doomed to live with 14 cats because my looks are so offensive. It’s just that growing up I was brown, lanky, only developed the one curve I have in college and always had cute(r) friends. A semester in Florence gave me a little more confidence and the ability to possibly see myself as being a little more, if not one of the “cute friends”, at least not “the ugly one.”
Back in high school, my friends and I would create these obnoxious but innocent enough lists, Men-U’s if you will, of the qualities we were looking for in a boyfriend. They would say things like “nice arms, over 6’1, gets along with my friends, smart enough to help me with Calculus homework, etc.” Whatever the case might be, these lists made us feel we had the right to strive for something idealistic. Obviously, none of us would fulfill the ideal lists, Fine Lists, any of our male classmates might come up with but oh well. While the lists were very limiting, they were all in good fun and we knew no such “perfect” person existed but we could at least hope. Maybe they just helped us prioritize. I always said they weren’t in ranking order but maybe they should’ve been…
Anyway, it’s been years since I created one of these lists and hope that I’ve outgrown them but a comment a friend made recently made me think about these lists and what a revised 2009, 25-year-old version would look like. While Chivis has known me for three years, she’s never seen me “with” someone. The random “he’s cute” here and there was all she had to determine “my type”. So after old and new “friends” started to emerge and she’d seen their pictures, I was told that I would need to lower my (physical) standards for Austin. The personalities of these friends are all very different and there is something endearing (at least to me) about them but that particular conversation came down to the physical.
No offense to the men in Austin. I’m sure there are plenty of handsome, single, straight (very important distinction for Austin I’ve learned) men here but I’m just not being as lucky at drawing their attention as I might have been other places. There are plenty of reasons for this that we’ll not need to go into. It’s just interesting to me that from seeing the photos of three male “friends”, Chivis decided my problem was not my personality, where I am or am not meeting people, the people I’m meeting, or anything else like that. It was my standards and my physical standards at that.
Granted, I will have to admit that the three “friends” she did see were very attractive but at least for two of them, that’s not the first thing I noticed about them or what drew me in. For (almost) every guy I’ve ever been interested in, their personality was much more important than their physical. Yes, attraction must be there and I’ve learned the hard way that trying to “create” the physical attraction is just not a good idea. But I’ve also learned the hard way that just attraction equals near immediate boredom. I can’t afford more boredom in my life. I need excitement, challenge, intrigue. If looking at a picture can give me just about everything being with you can, I’ve got to move on (as sad as it may be to watch you go).
I’m not sure if the items on my Men-U have grown or shrank but I am sure they’ve evolved at least a little. Nice arms and over 6’1 would still be great but I’d be more than happy to give up a little firmness and a few inches for a similar sense of humor and the ability to just sit in silence together. Little things, really. In high school having a boyfriend/girlfriend was almost a status symbol. Now it seems like it means you’re lucky or skilled enough to draw someone else willingly into your craziness.
What’s on your Men-U/Fine List? Are all of the things that were SO important to you when you were 16 still important? If you’re in a relationship or just out of a (for the most part) really good one, what did you give up or settle on? What things did you get that you never knew you wanted? The perpetually single one would like to know.
Wishing she could find just one of those lists from junior year,
Eamon’s “F*ck It”. It doesn’t exactly fit but a friend recently reminded me of this song and I thought I’d share in the laughter. WARNING: This song contains language not suitable for children.
It’s official. My wife is cheating on me and he’s more than just a fling. How dare she find someone of the opposite sex to care about and spend her time with! Didn’t she know that we were supposed to be perpetually single together? And how dare the person actually be cool and good to/for her! Or nice to me and my dog! Now what am I going to do? I enjoyed avoiding relationships with my little comrade.
Okay, so it may not be that extreme but sometimes it could feel that way if I let it. There is something about getting comfortable with your current situation. It doesn’t mean you love every part of your life but that you at least know how to deal with it all. What do you do when something suddenly changes without your consent?
As with most things, this is all about me. (Haha) I can’t write about what she feels or thinks although I know that she’s adjusting to this as well. But her adjustment is at least more fun than mine. I am losing my wife, my comrade, my little buddy. And I can’t be happier for her or sadder for me. 😦
You see it’s not completely that I’m jealous of him taking her away from me (although that’s a big part of it). I’m also jealous of her. Months ago, we discussed our perpetual singledom. I thought I was done with it. I might actually be ready to end the streak. She on the other hand had absolutely no intention of abandoning her current state. Fast forward a couple of months and she’s with a really good guy and I’m forced to watch them hold hands at dinner and cuddle on our couch. Because I’m bitter and have the selective maturity of a 12-year-old, it all makes me a little uncomfortable. I’m not ready for her to move on because that forces me to accept she won’t always be around when I want her to be and to consider why I haven’t, especially since I’m the one that thought they wanted to. I know you can’t force things and everything good comes in time but still…
After relaying my current childish frustration, a non-single friend of mine told me that of course these things happen and that I shouldn’t feel bad about feeling whatever I’m feeling. Since she’s in a long-distance relationship, she relies on her single friends during the week. She’d prefer for them to stay single if only for her sake. Now, while that may sound a little selfish, I can only appreciate it that much more because she’s being honest. A close friend entering a new romantic relationship can be a difficult thing to deal with/accept/be happy about regardless of your relationship status. Your life changes and you don’t get to enjoy any of the benefits of this change. All I can do is be happy for her. But no one said how quickly or gracefully I had to make this adjustment.
There’s no resolution for this post . I’m just sharing my situation, frustration and childish reactions. I’m happy my wife is cheating on me but I’ll still be bitter for a little while longer.
So it looks like yesterday’s post “Strong Personality in a Weak Economy” was a bit premature or entirely too late. Either way, I no longer have to worry about whether my strong personality will be a benefit or a liability in the office. I no longer have an office to worry about at all. Today, I was officially laid off. Nice. 🙂
I signed yesterday’s post “Fingers crossed she’ll be able to make it another day/week/month/year without a meeting with HR”. Well, that didn’t exactly work all that well in my favor this morning. Sparing the non-entertaining details, I was laid off due to “the numbers.” Being analytical and structural, I can’t argue with the numbers. There might be a particular interpretation of those numbers that I take issue with….but whatever. I was given the requisite speeches and released to figure out this new chapter of my work life: packing up my office.
Why do/did I have so much stuff? If I’d thought about it, I would’ve taken a picture to share. I understand that I’ve been there for just over three years and that I’m a pack rat but really? Packing up took entirely too long, especially considering the people coming in an out to cry and say goodbye. I was given the option to pack up that day or later in the week if I didn’t want to “be around everyone.” Being the difficult, strong person I like to (pretend to) be, I decided against the “punk” route and packed up in plain view of everyone, well with my door closed…
The mixture of stifled, indignant tears, released, shameless tears, two margaritas at lunch and 104 degree weather has caused this obnoxious headache. The crying headache is one of the worst feelings I can experience. Aside from the pain itself, it reminds me of my weakness. I personally HATE crying, especially in public. No one needs to see that level of vulnerability. I’d rather (and have) cry in the middle of a large airport terminal surrounded by hundreds of strangers than in front of a good friend. Well, I had a little less control of my emotions today than I would’ve liked and I quickly bypassed my quota of zero people seeing my cry. I’m not ashamed or anything, I’m just a little disappointed in that lose of control. Oh well, what can I do about it now?
The outpouring of support from (most) people has been heartwarming and appreciated. But being laid off just sucks and there’s nothing that I can say about it that hasn’t already been said or anything that they can tell me that’s going to make me feel better about losing my job, my position, my source of income, my stability, my career. Plus, I’m still dealing with this. It’s less than 12 hours old. I’m sure I’ll be elated, depressed, excited, scared, relieved, and anxious all at some point. At this point, however, I’m just numb. I’m going through the motions, or at least what I imagine the motions to be. Who to tell, how to tell them, how to console them, how to be strong, how to be okay with being weak. It’s all a process I wasn’t planning on but have to fully accept now. And I have a pretty awe inspiring example to live up to. I don’t know if I can do it as gracefully as Robertoe but I’ll do my best….next week. 🙂
Donna Summer’s “She Works Hard for the Money” for a little inspiration. (Gotta love the ’80s lip-synching)
I have a relatively strong personality. Shocking I’m sure to anyone who knows me or has read more than a few of these posts. This strength of personality has always been a source of pride and heartache for me. Some people just don’t understand how to handle a person, child, woman, employee, daughter, student, etc like me. And I’m sure that I haven’t really made it all that easy for most people…
Regardless, my strong personality has never really been a problem, more of a mild annoyance to remain aware of. That is until everyone began to fear for their jobs. The economy, for lack of a better word, sucks right now. Things are beginning to get better but nothing’s comfortable yet. We all need to be very careful in and around the workplace. To be gainfully employed is something to covet and be thankful for at this time. So what does that mean for the office smart-ass, cynic and/or bitch?
I playfully termed myself the “office cynic” about a year ago. Our president at that time (for some reason) trusted my opinion. It’s not that I am/was of a high enough level to make a real difference. It’s just that he seemed to appreciate my sarcasm and honesty. Since that time, the office has changed quite a bit. People have left and/or been laid off. New people have joined. Clients have cut their budgets or contracts all together with us. All and all, money is tight and we’re all really watching our jobs. Is there room for sarcasm in this type of economy?
Of course everyone is trying to do their jobs to the best of their abilities. And with shrinking staffs, most people are in fact doing multiple jobs for the same, if not less, pay. It’s just that doing your job isn’t always enough. How do you control the personal part of you? My entire personality has never been “released” upon the office but I need to learn to control it even more now. Not everyone finds my sarcasm endearing and I can no longer afford to ignore that fact. My strong personality and low place on the totem pole are not a good mix when you’re relieved you haven’t been called into HR’s office each day.
What do you do when a defining trait becomes a potential liability? It’s not that I believe my strong personality would ever be a reason to let me go. BUT when the higher ups say cut someone and you’re comparing my resume with that of an equally qualified employee, does that prized personality help or hurt my chances? I’d, unfortunately, venture to bet the latter.
I’m doing my best to remain positive and (more) quiet when necessary while in the office. It’s a trial and error process but I think I’m slowly getting better at it. One day I might be able to compartmentalize the way my mother does. She just works. While I hope my office life never requires that type of coldness, if it does, I at least know the ability runs in the family.
Fingers crossed she’ll be able to make it another day/week/month/year without a meeting with HR,
The Truth: According to Jo'van 