Seinfeld Moments: Part II

40 weeks down
13 weeks to go
8 months until the wedding

As I mentioned in a post a few months ago, there are going to be times when my writing strays a bit and I will choose to write about things which have nothing to do with daily life, being an Army wife, planning a wedding or any of the rest of it. These are what I affectionately refer to as my Seinfeld moments—utterly absurd stories about nothing at all. And regardless of their trifling nature, still make you stop, wonder if you’ve momentarily stepped into the Twilight Zone, and then laugh uncontrollably. These are the moments that I live for and greatly enjoy chronicling. Because let’s be honest, most of the time, regular ol’ life is really damned funny.

And in that spirit, my friends, I offer you three really good ones from the last week of my life. The high-stress, low-patience, holiday edition of my Seinfeld Moments, Part II: Irrational Others.


* * * * * * * * *

I pride myself on finding unique gifts for people. I like to make them meaningful especially to those close to me. My dad is a prime example: a hard-to-buy-for-man who doesn’t really like or need “stuff.” So I like to give him experiences instead. In that vein, this year my Christmas gift to my father was tickets to see “Wicked” (showing in a town near you!) which happens to be under the baton of one of my very good friends from college. So dad got the book and the soundtrack and a new sweater to wear on the night of the show. We’ll dine and get a back stage tour. Not a ton of “stuff.” But memories that he can keep.

But dad did ask me for one THING. The only thing that I knew I had to get him: A money clip. But being absent-minded and excited by all the Wicked gifts, I completely forgot about the money clip. Until December 23. Hear me now, believe me later friends, Christmas shopping in Washington DC on December 23 is a contact sport.

But I had a plan. There was a strip mall close to my house (close meaning five miles, which equals about 45 minutes with Christmas traffic) that had a TJ Maxx, and Marshalls, a Ross, a Bed, Bath and Beyond and a DSW all there together. I knew that the crazy pre-Christmas sales would bring last minute shoppers into these particular stores in droves.

But a *money clip.* That’s easy. They sell those in the little boxed, pre-packed-for-stocking-stuffing, paired-with-a-keychain-or-cologne, packages right by the checkout! I’m in. I’m out. No problem.

FYI: Bed, Bath and Beyond doesn’t sell them. Nor does TJ Maxx. Or Marshalls. Or DSW. Evidently no one needs their money clipped anymore.

I was getting tired and a *wee* bit frustrated and ever-so-slightly-Christmas-cranky when I walked into Ross: A.K.A. my last hope.

Sheer and utter mayhem. Outside of a Black Friday 2:00a.m. Midwestern Wal-Mart stampede for a $12 VCR circa 1989, I had never seen anything like it. Immediately upon entry, I was shoved aside in pursuit of the last empty cart in the store. I looked around, truly bewildered, wondering if the flurry of frantic motion was because the building was perhaps on fire. After several elbow checks that even the NHL might have frowned upon, I saw a display case by the checkout that looked promising. Small boxes of what appeared to be wallets and the like.

Sadly, the display was behind a long line of people in the checkout. I approached cautiously.

“Excuse me ma’am. Can I scoot by here?”

“I have waited in line for one hour.” Very matter of fact.

“No, no. I’m sorry, I don’t want to check out, I just want to look at the display behind you there.”

“You are NOT getting in front of me. Get to the back of the line!” What no Merry Christmas?

I held my hands up in the air like someone in a western just told to “Reach for the sky!!” just to prove that I had nothing in my hands to pay for and therefore was not trying to cut in front of her.

“Seriously ma’am, I’m not trying to cut. I just want to look at the display case behind you. I can’t see it unless I stand here in front of your cart.”

“Maybe you oughta buy something if you want to be in line so damned bad! Move to the end of the line, lady!” And then others, watching this exchange, but not understanding. “Yeah, seriously lady. Back of the line. We’ve been here, like an hour already.” I backed away slowly, tip-toeing like Elmer Fudd in a Bugs Bunny cartoon, hunting not rabbit, but rather a really big $10 paperclip. The scowls, upturned lips and slight shaking of heads followed me all the way to the exit. And when I got to the door, honest to God, I ran to my car for fear that a rogue cart might be after me. I fled the scene.

Dear Dad. Just so you know, I did not forget your Christmas money clip. It will be arriving from Amazon.com in 5-7 business days.

* * * * * * * * *

There is no place that I less like to hang out than the airport. I travel a lot so much of this is inevitable. But it is my least favorite place to spend extended periods of time. Please add to the equation that this year I was flying out on Christmas Eve from a very busy airport, and there was weather a’brewing making everyone jammed in said airport exceedingly nervous (and testy.)

One of my pet peeves about airlines is the mysteriously arbitrary loading zone numbers on your tickets. “Now boarding Zone 1!” And a cheer goes up from the crowd. Yet, no one knows how you get Zone 1. You didn’t *earn* Zone 1. And honestly, aren’t you all getting on the same plane?

And the people who try to Zone Scam make me craziest of all. Dude. You ticket says Zone 4. Just chill for a minute instead of trying to not-so-subtly-at-all, magically become a Zone 1 and thereby board the plane 2 minutes and 36 seconds before you otherwise would have boarded the plane.

This stuff happens all the time. But on this trip, I saw the best EVER arbitrary plane boarding argument.

First, the guy calls First Class. There was a special entrance for First Class. A very special red carpet runner next to a very ordinary black carpet runner separated by a velvet rope. Three very important passengers walked by and tried to walk down the black carpet. “No no, Mr. Smith. You should walk on THIS side!” And the steward indicated the red carpet side of the rope. Mr. Smith complied.

“Next we’d like to call our extra super special red carpet patrons to board.” Six or seven more people moved to the front of the line and walked across the red carpet and onto the plane.

“Now boarding Zone 1.” And all ticketed passengers bum-rushed the gate. The steward, clearly seeing he had lost control and desperately trying to regain authority yelled to push the passengers back, reminding that this was Zone 1 ONLY. And worse: they had (GASP) lined up on the red carpet, instead of the black carpet, which *clearly* since these people were not special, was not acceptable behavior. One particularly pushy women who was first in line (and whose ticket said Zone 3 by the way) wasn’t having it.

“Ma’am you must step back. You’re on our red carpet.”

“And?”

“Well, you’re not a Red Carpet guest.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not kidding. Please step to the other side of the rope, ma’am.”

“Really? You’ve got to be kidding. It’s a carpet.” And then, for show, definitely in an attempt to get the whole line behind her fired up and on her side… “Evidently the only way I’m getting on this plane is if I walk on the BLACK carpet because we can’t fly today if I walk on the wrong piece of rag on the floor!!

Whispered from the man behind her. “Seriously ma’am. Are you getting on the plane or not? You’re holding up the line.”

“OH I AM holding up the line am I?!?! Well in all my years…” And then she started screaming and cursing as she walked around the rope to the black carpet side, got her ticket scanned, and boarded the plane while the rest of us just rolled our eyes.

As I got onto the plane myself ( a legit Zone 3 and remarkably a mere 2 minutes after the floor show) I had to laugh. It was a hundred passenger plane—the kind with a row of seats on one side of the aisle that was for only one passenger and on the other side of the aisle that was made for just two. There was no first class. No separation or partition. No special treatment for the red carpet folks once inside the airplane.

And the cranky lady? Back row. Up against the wall. Next to the toilets.

* * * * * * * * *

My new office is very close to a hospital. Because of this all the eating establishments in proximity to my office are usually flooded with interns and residents, doctors, nurses and patients. On any given day I’m usually the only person not wearing scrubs or a white coat in the morning coffee line.

Late last week, the last day before the holiday break, I ventured to a fast food restaurant to grab a diet soda for my mid-afternoon break. I walked in at the same time as a very distinguished looking doctor—Quite stoic, mid-50’s, graying hair at his temples, wearing wire-rimmed glasses, a white coat over the shirt and tie, and decorated with access badges out the wazoo. He signaled permission for me to order in front of him.

“I’d like a large diet coke please.” The cashier nodded, took my money and produced a large cup of soda. And then in a shocking-even-for-fast-food move, she took the lid to the cup and smooshed it on top of my soda with the palm of her hand. It did not attach.

“Ma’am. I don’t think the lid is on that cup.”

“Sure it is.” And she smooshed it down harder with the heel of her hand. Now it is not only not on, but is also cracked.

“Seriously, I don’t think it fits. I think it’s broken. Can I please have a different lid?”

“No, no, it fine. That’s just what it looks like.” (Really?) And she pushed the cup across the counter to me. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, I picked up the cup. When I did, the lid popped off, and the soda spilled all down the front of my sweater.

“See, you didn’t need a new lid, you needed napkins,” she said to me, quite satisfied. Hmph. Sassy. And then she picked up the lid, smooshed it down hard *again* with the heel of her hand, and slide the drink across to me. At this point, the lid is cracked in about six places and definitely not on the cup.

I looked around to see if anyone was watching this happen besides me, thinking that it was possible that I was imagining all this take place. Or maybe I wasn’t being clear with my instructions? I turned to look at the doctor who was behind me, but stood staring at the ceiling, biting his lower lip. I couldn’t read whether or not he was ignoring the scene or if he was just irritated he had let me go in front of him and it was taking so long.

“Ma’am. Please. I’d like a new lid.”

“No no. No new lid. New cup.”

Are you kidding me? So she took my soda (only half full now by the way, since the spillage) and poured it into a brand new cup. Then she took the old, cracked, ripped-up lid and one last time, smooshed it on with the heel of her hand.

“There. Perfect. Thank you and have a nice day. Next!”

I took my beaten up half beverage in my hand and stared at it blank-faced. I turned around, looked at the doctor and said “my life is an episode of Seinfeld” and walked out the door.

The last thing I heard as I walked from the shop was the stoic doctor belly laugh so hard that he snorted.

People

39 weeks down
14 weeks left
How about we start talking about the diet again after the first of the year?
About 8 months until the wedding

When I was in college, I took a learning styles test called the Gregorc or some such thing, a test that assessed how you perceived information, and then once you had acquired that info, how you ordered it for use. You answered a series of questions, choosing the words you thought sounded most like you. At the end you tallied your score and it remarkably told you ALL ABOUT YOU!…how you learn; the situations in which you thrive; and most importantly the situations in which you struggle.

At the time I took the test, I remember being so happy to finally find my fit. (Actually, I almost didn’t fit in a category as my score was so far skewed one way that I was nearly off the chart.) My designation, that of someone who was considered to be Abstract-Random (yes yes, you can laugh at that) seemed to fit me so well. I was someone who believed in making learning personal, having high morale, building and maintaining friendships, and who used the heart not the head to make choices. And what was I really good at? Listening to others, paying attention to broad themes and ideas, making sure that everyone stayed positive, that our feelings were all heard and that we all remained harmonious. That seems about right, or at least that was very true when I took the test for the first time.

Throughout the years I have taken that test about a half dozen more times. And as I age and grow and learn I find that I have changed in the way that I think and interact with others. Whereas I used to be so far skewed into the Abstract Random category (I lived on a cloud made of feelings…) I’m fairly even across the four quadrants now—having a good sense of how each learning type works and drawing from them all.

It’s amazing to me as I look back, having taken the test multiple times at different stages in my life that I can see at which times I might have answered the questions differently. I can see not only that I have changed, but when and in what ways. And often, I can even tie it back to a specific event in my life. It’s fascinating to me, this reflection. Because patterns begin to emerge.

Because I like patterns and reflection and figuring out the puzzle (sooo not Abstract Random of me!) I have always enjoyed personality tests and pop-psychology analysis like the Gregorc and the Myers Briggs. Now, the Myers Briggs has always confounded me. I have taken the Myers Briggs test, oh, I’m going to say 30 times in my life. And honestly, my score is completely dependent upon the day, which somehow seems weird to me. Shouldn’t I have a personality constant?!

For those of you who don’t know what Myers Briggs is, it is a personality test that scores the way you inherently gather, process and use information and helps you to figure out what a good profession might be (at least, this is how I have most often seen it used. I’m certain that it wasn’t designed solely as a vocational tool.) There are four categories with two possible designations in each: You are either an introvert or an extrovert; you are either intuitive or sensing; thinking or feeling; and judging or perceiving. And these four categories can be mixed and matched so that you end up as one of 16 possible personality types.

If you have ever met me (and even if you haven’t you can probably figure it out by now), you’ll not be surprised that there has never been a time I have taken this test and come out as an introvert. I’m pretty much across the board an extrovert. Duh. But in the other three categories, yet again, I fall pretty much right down the middle—as often able to see details as I am the overall patterns; pretty evenly split between making my decisions based on logic and based on emotion; and as able to make deliberative, definitive decisions as I am able to go with the flow and stay open to possibilities.

I will say though, that in my old age, I most frequently (even if only by a couple points, and even if only every two out of three times) end up as an ENFJ- which means I am an extrovert who can use intuition to gather info (it doesn’t always have to be concrete there in front of me) from an empathetic, humanitarian, holistic-type way, but who likes to solve problems: resolve it, check the box and move on.

According to research in the field, there’s only 2% of the population who falls into this category, and not remarkably, they are “teachers, having natural talent for leading students toward learning…they are capable of calling forth each learner's potentials, …to fire the imagination; their greatest strength lies in their belief in their students. They look for the best in their students, and communicate clearly that each one has untold potential, and this confidence can inspire their students to grow and develop more than they ever thought possible.”

Ha. Well then. Me as a teacher. Go figure.

So why am I talking about all this now?

Well, this week my new job asked me to take yet another of these sorts of tests so as to “figure out our office team dynamic.” This diagnostic is something we make all of our incoming associates take, and soon enough, I will be the one administering this test to others. So clearly, I was fascinated! My office mates and I sat down and tried to preliminarily guess what my Five Greatest Strengths would be. Some guessed empathy. Others guessed achievement. My boss thought one might be competition. Having very little faith in the static nature of my personality, I myself ventured no guesses. After a one hour, one hundred and some odd question test, what do you think we found out?

According to the Strengths Quest analysis, I am, in this order: Strategic, Individualistic, Connected, “Woo”, and Communicative. So what does that mean?

First and foremost, I ask “what if.” I play the mental game of chess with my life and all situations all day long. I see patterns in the clutter and tend to play out every possible scenario imaginable, create a pro/ con list, and act accordingly. (Um, have you been reading this blog? Right.) Second, I believe strongly in the power of the individual person. I take the time to know everything about everyone and act accordingly. I loathe stereotypes and take a great deal of pride in knowing the strengths of each person and playing toward them. (Yup.) Third. I am a connecter. I build bridges. I have a great deal of faith in a higher power and the idea that we are all in this together, connected for a greater overall purpose. We just have to find it and each other. And I’m here to help with that.

Fourth, I am “Woo” which stands for Winning Others Over. Basically, I like to make friends. No one is a stranger. I engage random people in conversation because I want to know them and I want them to like me. I am not intimidated by strangers or social settings. I am rarely at a loss for words.(Have we met?) And in that vein, fifth and finally, I am a communicator. I like words and images and phrases. I like word play and I take the time to choose my words carefully, especially when I want to call people to action. I thrive on inspiring others through my words.

I’m not sure if it’s because I am taking this test later in my life than the others, or if it is just that I haven’t had the opportunity to take it a second time and see if I have changed over time. But to me, this analysis seems the most accurate of all I have attempted, and encompasses all the ever-changing parts of the other tests I have taken.

So, in true Strategic form, I found myself asking, “Ok, so what does all this mean? What does it matter? Who cares? And what’s next?”

And it’s funny to me that now would be the time to ask that question. This week at work was the first one that I felt like I was really doing something good and interesting and worthwhile. And you know why? It was because of some really quality interactions that I had with my colleagues and my associates: Meaningful conversations, shared emotions, and listening to one another…getting to know one another on a deeper level as individuals.

If you’ll look closely, that is the one pattern that is consistent, constant in each iteration of all of these personality tests throughout all the years: I *need* to engage with people regularly and in meaningful ways.

So what is my personality constant? And what should I be doing with my life? Not that I needed this test to tell me (though it’s nice to be reassured) but it seems that teaching, caring, and communicating are at the core of who I am. And if I’m going to continue to have success at my new job, it is those traits that I must cultivate. (And though I have a strong distaste for Barbara Steisand generally), I guess that deep down these tests are revealing that on some level I truly do believe that people who need people *are* the luckiest people in the world. And if that’s the case, I am oh-so-blessed.

Preparedness

Just because I haven’t had a good Army wife rant in awhile, and I’m feeling it…

The late UCLA basketball coach John Wooden was once quoted as saying “always be prepared and be honest.” That quote has been in my head in the last couple weeks because I’m feeling a little bit right now that these two concepts—preparedness and honesty—are diametrically opposed when it comes to being an Army spouse.

When J left for Over There we dealt with the ever-changing deployment date. It’s next week, it’s next month. Prepare for today. Prepare for six weeks from now. Prepare and change. Prepare and change. Get told one thing, prepare for it, and have it switch. In the two months pre-deployment, I learned that the only way I could possibly be prepared for J leaving would be to not prepare at all; to accept that I had to throw the rule book straight out the window and lie to myself that I was ready to deal with whatever came my way, whenever it came my way. Basically, the only way I could be *prepared* was by lying that I was already prepared. Because there’s no way I could have really been ready for what was to come. I know that now. No way to be both prepared AND honest with yourself. (I think you’d go crazy if you tried.)

And of course, nothing truly prepares you for the actual leaving. Or the first month. As I have not so eloquently stated here in the this blog several times, the first month straight sucked. I was angry and sad and frustrated and scared (and any other emotiony-noun you can think of that doesn’t fall on the happy/excited end of the emotional spectrum.)

This has been at the forefront of my mind for two reasons in the last couple of weeks.

First, I’m starting to get the emails from the Family Readiness Group entitled “Preparing for Redeployment.” These are the emails that go out to all the Army spouses about what life is going to look like when your solider comes home and tries to reintegrate into “regular” life.

I wish I knew exactly why I resented these emails so much. There is absolutely no rational reason. These are good people trying really hard to help other really good people out. But I gotta tell ya—I get them, and I roll my eyes and passionately delete (Yes that’s right. I delete with fervor… like in the olden days [ten years ago] when you could hang up on someone by slamming the phone…that’s how I delete these messages…My own personal protest.)

It’s probably because in part I feel like I’m being sold a bill of goods. Don’t tell me it’s about time for him to come back home. You can’t promise that. You don’t know when he’s coming home. Hell, HE doesn’t know when he’s coming home. Actually, there’s like a six week window right now even from HIS standpoint, the standpoint of the one who should probably actually know when he’ll be planting his ass on an airplane. He doesn’t know. So there’s no way someone else can.

So yeah. Don’t get my hopes up that it’s soon. Don’t pretend like you know. And don’t even try to give me a *class* about what it’s going to be like to have him home again. Come on now. Really? There’s no preparing for him coming home any more than there was preparing for him to leave. And pretending that an email or a class can set a date and fill a year just seems silly to me. Who are they trying to kid here?

(And by the way, if we’re going on the record about words that I think are 100 % asinine, I’m adding “redeployment” to the list. It’s supposed to mean when he gets to come HOME. But silly me, taking the prefix “re” at face value as meaning “again”, it makes me think not that he’s coming back to me but rather is getting sent away another time. I would very much like for him to *not* be deployed again. I mean, if the service is going to arbitrarily make up a word (because, by the way, redeployment is not a word) don’t you think it should be called undeployment? He gets deployed when he gets sent Over There and then he gets undeployed when he gets to come home? Anyone? No?)

I guess what I’m saying here is that I have learned that the only way I can be honest with myself (and continue with some waning semblance of sanity) is by realizing that I’ll never really be prepared. And if you truly think that you are prepared, then I have sad and sorry news for ya there sister. You’re lying to yourself.

I understand that it’s the kind of lie that helps you get through the day. And some people may operate better that way…living in the land of pretend just to make the hours pass. I get that. I do. But I think that I would rather go the other direction—I’ll be honest with myself that there is no way I can be prepared for J’s coming home and leave it at that. (And in that vein, I sorta want J’s return to be a surprise. Like that I’ll have the absolute last possible date that he could ever possibly be coming home there in my head as the day I’ll see him, and any day earlier than that is an unexpected gift when he shows up at my office on a random Tuesday. That’s what I’m going to have to do to keep myself sane when there’s a six week window. )

I’m getting impatient. And I know J is too. And emails about him coming home are not helping either of us pass the time. (Especially when he and I realized today that I’ll be traveling out of the country on business for ten days *right* around the time he will likely be returning. How’s that for a kick in the ass? He mentioned us sharing a high-five in the airport as I left and he came home. I wanted to throw up.)

The other reason I have been thinking about this idea of preparedness is because I recently met a lovely family who lives here in the city who is loaning Dad-of-family out for a year deployment beginning in January. I was introduced to the Mom-of-family because she didn’t have any local military friends and our mutual friend thought it would be a good idea to connect her with someone.

I left our meeting broken-hearted on her behalf. It reminded me so much of the rational way I had tried to approach J leaving. It brought back the sting of the beginning of the our time apart.

She was trying so hard to make sense of it. Trying to figure out what life was going to look like…how they would cope…how they would prepare. Mom-of-family talked about service-spouse classes she was taking to learn everything she would need to know when Dad-of-family left for a year. The whole time she spoke, I just wanted to hug her. “She’s got no idea,” I thought to myself later that day as I reflected on our meeting. And there was nothing I could do to prepare her.

But you know what, she’ll learn what she needs to make the days pass. And maybe that will be preparedness, and maybe it will be learning to lie to herself. But she’ll keep on living and learning and making the absolute best she can of her days. It’s all that any of us can do.

I’m trying to do that right now, too: make the absolute best of my days. Maybe it’s all this undeployment talk (yup, I’m just going to start using it and see if it catches on). Maybe it’s the holidays. Maybe it’s that we’ve been wedding planning recently. Maybe it’s that I’m just about at my limit. But it’s been a hard couple of weeks, weeks that yet again, I was not prepared to face.

So maybe we can’t be prepared and simultaneously honest. Or at least I’m not sure* I* can when it comes to this. As Goethe said, “Life belongs to the living, and he who lives must be prepared for changes.” So I guess that’s all I can do. Keep on living, prepare for change, and lie to myself for a few more months that I’m good at it.

Ethos

38 weeks down
15 weeks left
How about we start talking about the diet again after the first of the year?
About 9 months until the wedding

Ethos: from the Greek, originally meaning "accustomed place"; "custom, habit"; the equivalent to the Latin word “mores” meaning “a society's particular norms or values.” Ethos serves as the root of the word that has come to mean “ethics” to us today. (And in this writing, I especially think of it in terms of a work ethic.)

In the world of rhetoric, ethos is one of the pieces of a persuasive argument, an important part as you work towards persuading an audience to believe that you have credibility. Your goal as the speaker is to come across with wisdom, virtue, and goodwill while simultaneously convincing the crowd you have no particular angle of your own or ulterior motive. You must earn credibility by being wise and impartial. And ultimately it is the audience who decides if you have achieved that: Whether or not you are, in the estimation of their society’s norms, ethical…one of them.

When people ask me about my new job, it is both of these ideas of ethos that automatically pop into my head: both the work ethic of my new place, and whether or not I have yet persuaded my co-workers to accept me as ethical. Inevitably, when people say “how is your new job different from your old one?”, the answer is quite simply ethos.

At my former job I came and went as I felt necessary. I got my work done. I kept my appointments and office hours. I was available and hardworking. I answered all phone calls and emails in less than 24 hours. But I did not, in any way, punch a clock. I didn’t have to log vacation days or sick days. I dressed as I pleased. And I didn’t have anyone checking up on me about whether or not I got my work done. I was trusted to get it done, and I did so. And if I wanted to engage in a conversation with a co-worker, I felt very comfortable doing so.

At my new job, this is not the ethos. I am into the office each day at 8:30. And people care whether or not I am. I don’t really take a lunch. I work each day until 5:30. I do not leave early. I wear a suit about 3 days of the week. I am in a big professional city with a big professional job and job title and the expectation is that of a big professional me. The ethos, the values and norms and habits, are quite different. No checking facebook on the lunch hour or carrying on casual conversations during work hours. No cranking the Pandora when I need a pick-me-up. No working with your door shut. I am open and available and at the beck and call of my boss and coworkers at all times. And my work is very transparent. (Thank goodness that so far, my co-workers seem like seriously cool people that I very much dig and would choose to be friends with on the outside should the situation present itself.)

Now, I’m here to say that I’m not trying to assign a value judgment one way or the other. At my old job, I begged to be treated as professional—to be taken seriously and respected. I longed for more of a schedule and a routine and responsibility. I was often treated like a kid. At my new job (what I am affectionately referring to as my “grown up” job) I am taken seriously. I think I’m respected. But so far, I’m sure that the only reason that this is the case is because I show up each day at 8:30, I punch the preverbal clock, and I sit for my 9 hours doing the tasks that are put in front of me reliably and without complaint.

I can’t even begin to tell you what an adjustment this has been for me.

Changing all the habits of your work life on a dime—quitting one job on a Friday and starting one that is the polar opposite of that on a Monday, is not an easy task. It’s been a pretty intense first month of complete routine upheaval. I get up at 6:00 a.m. and am out the door by 7:45 and to work by 8:30. I work until 5:30 and then take public transportation home through rush hour traffic. I get home at 6:30 (on the nights that I don’t go straight to the gym after work or the one night of each week when I have to work until 8:30 p.m.) I eat dinner, and suddenly it is 8:00p.m. I watch one hour of tv and am sound asleep by 9:00 p.m. (Wonder why I haven’t been blogging recently? I honestly fall asleep each night before I get the chance to write. Not a particularly exciting life I’m living here right now.)

And so my work ethic is changing. And that is good and necessary. But it is an adjustment. And it is a slow process.

More importantly, I find myself each day trying to work through the other part of ethos: convincing my co-workers that I’m the real deal—that they can and should trust me-- that I’m one of them. I’m used to working in organizations and with individuals who are very open and honest about how they feel, willing and able to hug-it-out if there is a problem.

This is not my current situation.

I know it will take time to earn the trust of new coworkers. I know that I need to have some more major work successes before the team realizes that I’m worth what they’re paying me. I’m trying to strike the balance between working toward this happening, and trying not to try too hard. I’m sure it will come. I just have to give it a little bit of time.

I had a bit of a breakthrough in this respect on Friday.

The first major event that I had been given sole possession of in the office came off without a hitch. It was a great success and the people I was working with thanked me for my hard work. And I felt really good about it. My boss took notice. Finally, proof that my work ethic was there. I’m learning the new ethos. And I think I’m finally starting to earn a little credibility.

I was talking about how good this made me feel with the man that works in the office next to mine: my co-director, the person who I will be spending most of my professional time with for the foreseeable future. Every time we interact I feel just a little awkward, completely unable to get a read on whether or not he likes me, hates me, trusts me, thinks I have way too many annoying questions, or just simply wishes I would go away. He’s a very nice guy, and every time we get a chance to talk about non-work stuff, I always think to myself that we would probably be friends outside of work, if we were ever outside of work. We are never outside of work.

One of the first conversations he and I had when I started revealed that we lived in the same neighborhood here in the city.

On Friday as I was leaving he stopped me “Did you drive or bus today?” “I drove.” “Any chance I could catch a ride home?” “Sure.”

This big office head-honcho didn’t laugh at the 1998 p.o.s. that I drive. He liked my alternative rock that was blasting when he got in the car. We had a good non-work conversation. He showed me some great short-cuts to get me home from work even faster. When we got to his place (which is literally like 4 blocks from me) he asked me to come in and meet his wife and daughter. It was like we had finally gone down the path to being friends. His wife was lovely. His 6 week old daughter, gorgeous.

When I left to drive home to my place on Friday afternoon, it was the first time since I moved here that I felt truly satisfied with my job. I had done good work. I had made a friend. I had started to win the trust of my co-workers. After what has felt like a long transition period, I’m finally becoming one of them.

Slowly, I’m settling in to my new habits of my big-kid job. And I’m happy to say, that I’m starting to feel like I fit. Whether or not my co-workers agree remains to be seen. But I’m going to continue to put forth the best of my wisdom, virtue, and goodwill in the hopes that eventually I persuade them to believe in me like I’m starting to believe in myself.