It’s strange the things your spirit and subconscious pick up on without your knowledge.
Yesterday at work I was feeling especially restless. I’ve been kind of restless as of late anyway, but I thought the long Thanksgiving weekend would help the situation. I had five lovely days of sleeping late, hanging with my parents, sister, and pets, shopping, walking in the woods, and breaking a month-long fast by eating my favorite Thanksgiving foods. I even did a little work and cleared out my e-mail so that I could return stress-free. But as yesterday progressed, I still felt increasingly restless. I felt better after leaving work and running some errands. (Sidenote: Does anyone else love quiet weeknights in Target as much as I do? The place was dead, and I was in heaven.)
Then this morning I woke before my alarm went off… which was way too stinkin’ early. I was hot, then I was cold… I was having some kind of bad dream that I can’t remember, but I didn’t want to get up. It was one of those miserable morning starts. But once showered and dressed all business-like, I was off to my usual Tuesday morning meetings.
I arrived to find that our meetings had been cancelled last-minute, and my boss was perplexed. He and I chatted a bit with the other lady who had shown up, then we headed upstairs… I presumed to our cubicle homes. But my boss took a turn out of the stairwell and directed me toward our vice president’s office. Hmmm… maybe an announcement for our department? A discussion about a current project? Surely it couldn’t be anything bad… they just promised us no more lay-offs. I had the e-mail from the CEO to prove it. But then the door closed, and I was offered a seat… and I sat, numb and naïve.
Then the blow came.
Nothing you did or could have done... We're sorry... The economy is just so bad... No one could have anticipated how far down the bottom would go...
I still remember the night before my first interview with my boss. I was nervous and anxious, putting the final touches on my resume and going over and over my answers to all the dreaded interview questions. Where do you see yourself in five years? What are your strengths? How I disliked those questions… but I was finding positive, unique spins on them. I was willing to do whatever I had to do to get that job. It was the opportunity I’d been waiting for: a large, reputable Christian publisher, books I loved and believed in, a rich history and vision, the chance to be an… editor. I loved the way the word felt on my tongue. It held the promise of hours spent poring over dictionaries, discussions with colleagues over punctuation, days of reading and writing. A chance to leave administrative assistant-land behind and finally put my English degree to good use. I wanted that job so bad I could taste it. Electricity pulsed through my veins as I typed on my resume. The evening sun glowed through the crusty windows of my ghetto apartment, and I felt on the verge of something big.
The interview was great. Not only was my future boss personable and humble, he specifically said he didn’t like asking the typical interview questions and asked about my life instead. We got around to some interview-ish inquiries, but I was comfortable and at ease by then. I felt like I was really able to convey my passion and eagerness for the job.
After two more meetings and two months of red tape, I was on my way to editor-dom. It was so exciting. I loved my new coworkers, and everything held possibility. A corporation full of people to befriend, editor lingo to learn, the whole publishing industry to explore. I launched into working on a variety of book projects and memorizing every step of the process.
After only a month as Ms. Editor, my dad and I bought a new house for me. I somehow balanced the stress of the new job with the mind-boggling process of building and buying a house. We packed up my meager belongings from the rodent-infested ghetto apartment, and some of my new work friends even came to help me make the new place home. My house was on top of a hill overlooking the city, and it was everything I could have asked for. I felt so blessed, so full. After the bumpy times of my early twenties, life was looking up.
Soon I was going to editing courses at the University of Chicago, helping launch a guild to unite the editors with common practices and processes, creating directives for a new department, and training new employees. I watched many of my friends lose their jobs in a lay-off, picked up the pieces in my department, and worked on, with more responsibility and strength than ever.
I threw myself into my job and the house. I even joined a new church in there, too, and began serving and making new friends there. After a brief bratty season where I felt sure I was supposed to get the diamond solitaire to “complete the circle” so to speak, I threw myself even further into my work. I fully embraced all of my new responsibilities and experiences. So fully, in fact, that God? Oh yeah, remember the guy who gave it all to me? He kind of faded into the background.
Today as I squatted, suppressing sobs in a corporate-grey stall of the women’s bathroom on the sixth floor of a nondescript office building near the airport in Nashville, He came back into focus.
And not because I felt His overwhelming peace and presence there with me. But because I didn’t really. It was as if while I was receiving the “pink slip,” He had slipped out the door and headed on to the next thing.
My next dream… wherever it is. And I’m running, tripping over my pride, stumbling over my weak faith, trying to catch up with Him.
I still remember the night before my first interview with my boss. I was nervous and anxious, putting the final touches on my resume and going over and over my answers to all the dreaded interview questions. Where do you see yourself in five years? What are your strengths? How I disliked those questions… but I was finding positive, unique spins on them. I was willing to do whatever I had to do to get that job. It was the opportunity I’d been waiting for: a large, reputable Christian publisher, books I loved and believed in, a rich history and vision, the chance to be an… editor. I loved the way the word felt on my tongue. It held the promise of hours spent poring over dictionaries, discussions with colleagues over punctuation, days of reading and writing. A chance to leave administrative assistant-land behind and finally put my English degree to good use. I wanted that job so bad I could taste it. Electricity pulsed through my veins as I typed on my resume. The evening sun glowed through the crusty windows of my ghetto apartment, and I felt on the verge of something big.
The interview was great. Not only was my future boss personable and humble, he specifically said he didn’t like asking the typical interview questions and asked about my life instead. We got around to some interview-ish inquiries, but I was comfortable and at ease by then. I felt like I was really able to convey my passion and eagerness for the job.
After two more meetings and two months of red tape, I was on my way to editor-dom. It was so exciting. I loved my new coworkers, and everything held possibility. A corporation full of people to befriend, editor lingo to learn, the whole publishing industry to explore. I launched into working on a variety of book projects and memorizing every step of the process.
After only a month as Ms. Editor, my dad and I bought a new house for me. I somehow balanced the stress of the new job with the mind-boggling process of building and buying a house. We packed up my meager belongings from the rodent-infested ghetto apartment, and some of my new work friends even came to help me make the new place home. My house was on top of a hill overlooking the city, and it was everything I could have asked for. I felt so blessed, so full. After the bumpy times of my early twenties, life was looking up.
Soon I was going to editing courses at the University of Chicago, helping launch a guild to unite the editors with common practices and processes, creating directives for a new department, and training new employees. I watched many of my friends lose their jobs in a lay-off, picked up the pieces in my department, and worked on, with more responsibility and strength than ever.
I threw myself into my job and the house. I even joined a new church in there, too, and began serving and making new friends there. After a brief bratty season where I felt sure I was supposed to get the diamond solitaire to “complete the circle” so to speak, I threw myself even further into my work. I fully embraced all of my new responsibilities and experiences. So fully, in fact, that God? Oh yeah, remember the guy who gave it all to me? He kind of faded into the background.
Today as I squatted, suppressing sobs in a corporate-grey stall of the women’s bathroom on the sixth floor of a nondescript office building near the airport in Nashville, He came back into focus.
And not because I felt His overwhelming peace and presence there with me. But because I didn’t really. It was as if while I was receiving the “pink slip,” He had slipped out the door and headed on to the next thing.
My next dream… wherever it is. And I’m running, tripping over my pride, stumbling over my weak faith, trying to catch up with Him.
3 comments:
Whatever your next dream is, there is no doubt in my mind that you will shine. Prayers, good thoughts, well wishes, and as much hope as one out-of-work editor can give. ~ Thom
I just now read this, Darcie. I'm cheering for you, long-distance.
WOW! Well said and beautifully written. And look what He had in store for you! :-)
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