self help
I am not talking about the section of the bookstore that has some of the most depressing titles I’ve seen. Or hilarious, depending on my state of mind on a particular day. But the help we give ourselves. More specifically, the help I give myself.
I used to worry a LOT about a lot of things. As I’ve gotten older, most of these things have been reconciled, some by design, some due to circumstances, and some went away simply by the act of ageing.
Of course, I threw a monkey wrench into the mix when I decided to move to New Orleans. I started perusing the jobs postings in New Orleans before I made the final decision to move. I read them the entire time I lived there. And I’m still reading them.
No matter how well I think I do in an interview, I am also worried. I am no longer thirty or thirty-five. Or even fifty. And while I am pretty good with computers and learning software and fairly competent on the all so mighty god of office software, Excel, I still am not thirty or thirty-five or fifty. (For the record, I thought IBM’s Lotus a much better spreadsheet. But then, I told you I am no longer fifty.)
With age I’ve learned to relax in interviews and be myself. Except when being interviewed by a committee. Yee gads! A roomful of strangers will always be terrifying to me. But the woman hoping she’ll get the job is still quite disappointed when she gets the phone call or email saying they’ve “decided to go a different way”. A younger way? That’s what I always think. They want someone in it for the long haul. But I am in it for the long haul. I won’t be retiring in four years. Or six or seven. Probably not ever. Most younger workers will not stay at a job for more than two or three years. And I’m not making this up; I heard this from a twenty-something lawyer acquaintance in New Orleans.
So, in these days of ups and downs and hopes and fears, it is so important that I remember how special I am. And to never become discouraged, or accept that things will never change, never give up. After all, I have the strong genes of my grandmothers, and they were very stubborn Swedes.
I used to worry a LOT about a lot of things. As I’ve gotten older, most of these things have been reconciled, some by design, some due to circumstances, and some went away simply by the act of ageing.
Of course, I threw a monkey wrench into the mix when I decided to move to New Orleans. I started perusing the jobs postings in New Orleans before I made the final decision to move. I read them the entire time I lived there. And I’m still reading them.
No matter how well I think I do in an interview, I am also worried. I am no longer thirty or thirty-five. Or even fifty. And while I am pretty good with computers and learning software and fairly competent on the all so mighty god of office software, Excel, I still am not thirty or thirty-five or fifty. (For the record, I thought IBM’s Lotus a much better spreadsheet. But then, I told you I am no longer fifty.)
With age I’ve learned to relax in interviews and be myself. Except when being interviewed by a committee. Yee gads! A roomful of strangers will always be terrifying to me. But the woman hoping she’ll get the job is still quite disappointed when she gets the phone call or email saying they’ve “decided to go a different way”. A younger way? That’s what I always think. They want someone in it for the long haul. But I am in it for the long haul. I won’t be retiring in four years. Or six or seven. Probably not ever. Most younger workers will not stay at a job for more than two or three years. And I’m not making this up; I heard this from a twenty-something lawyer acquaintance in New Orleans.
So, in these days of ups and downs and hopes and fears, it is so important that I remember how special I am. And to never become discouraged, or accept that things will never change, never give up. After all, I have the strong genes of my grandmothers, and they were very stubborn Swedes.
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| sometimes we all need a reminder ©Trish Korous |
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