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5/3/2004
One Big Kick in the Adult Butt
Oy vey. It's May 3rd and still no new weblog format and publishing platform. What in Sam Hill happened to the month of April? Is it just me or did that month barely take its coat off to stay awhile? No one ever tells you that life after high school is a downward spiral of time. For me, time is that carrot dangling in front of me on a string that I can never quite catch up with. I've actually started getting 5-year reunion notices in the mail (silly to come together after only five years before the kids, the marriages, the divorces, and the money) and it still freaks me out quite a bit. This adult stuff can be frightening at times to say the least. When I originally started this weblog, I wanted it to be a steroid injected version of my brain (which is very random and sometimes quite offensive), as well as a place for me to vent my daily discoveries of the reality of being a grown-up. Trust me when I say there are lots of discoveries I could write a rather humorous book about. There are the little things no one ever tells you like the perils of buying bed sheets. Whoever knew that there were 1,645 different kinds of sheets? There's flannel, jersey-knit, 200 thread count, 300 thread count, 600 thread count, Egyptian Cotton, satin, and even sateen. If you want to ruin a new adult's self-esteem, just send them to the store to buy sheets. It will singelhandedly send them crying home, begging for mercy. I don't know how men do this. I'm a woman, and I found it mentally taxing and rather expensive. Some semi-nice sheets will run you at least $50-100 easy (unless you're a savings sleuth like me). Part of me wonders how the Ku Klux Klan ever cut up all those perfectly good white sheets. Somewhere there was a mother who was not too happy with her white supremecist son. (This'll make for some interesting search engine boolean) I am now proud to report that I am a strict adherer to a sheet thread count of no less than 300. However, I had to sleep on sandpaper and wake up with rug burn on my face before I realized there was indeed a big difference.
Then there's this whole issue of co-habitation. My friends are starting to get married, and God help us all when they start having babies because that might be too much for me to handle. Last summer, I dropped a small fortune on wedding gifts and I'm not looking forward to doing the same again for the next 10 years of my life. Yes, I am coming to the realization that I'm getting old. I realize that I am young, and scoff if you will at my saying this, but I really am getting old. I say this with a great deal of pride and intrepidation. I'm never going to be one of those people who lies on their driver's license and hushes birthday well-wishers in an effort to conceal their age. In fact, I absolutely love birthdays and wear my age like a badge. This is mostly because many people think I am 12 years old and if I don't wear my age, they wouldn't let me register to vote. As every month passes by, it puts me even closer to the dreaded day when I shall turn 23; an evil prime number I've come to detest since my youth (I've always felt uneasy about the lack of wholesomeness in prime numbers). Call me crazy, but I'd rather be 24 than 23.
I'm living to learn that time doesn't just fly when you're having fun. It also flies when you're not having fun, when you're complacent, when you're bored, and when you're asleep. Time just flat out flies. I currently work for a great, reputable company run on some very sound and moral principles. I have a nice job with great benefits, 401(k), profit sharing, stock options, great stuff. To top it off, I work with a great team of people who more or less support my career goals (those they know of). More recently I've come from behind my desk and begun facilitating and training which is my true heart and passion and being the extroveret I am, I could do it all day every day, no complaints. But if you asked me what percentage of my skill, talent, and ability is in use at my current job, I'd say about 6%. In fact, most Americans would probably give a figure less than 30%. Now for me, 6% is just plain sad. That's 94% of me going to waste. Though by many people's standards, I have a great job, I just can't see being here 5 more years, let alone 35 years, climbing the nasty corporate ladder, all for a silly retirement package? Nice try. In my adult life there is one factor here that I don't like and never imagined: I work for someone else. That will all change soon. I had a big reality check when I met with my senior a few weeks ago about my yearly merit-increase. It seems in my class, I've topped out the pay. There's no more money for me to make in my current position. This is it. I've made it. The end of the line. You should have seen me in that meeting when she told me this.
Blink.
Blink. Blink.
"What?"
All I could do was blink. And leave the room. This is the American Dream? Very funny lady. I'm so out of here. That was enough of a kick in the butt for me to stop being so comfortable in my cushy job and make it happen for myself. Thank God I had this realization at 22 and not 43.
posted by ambra at 5/3/2004 11:38:55 AM | link to this entry |
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