It’s been a minute (okay, more like a year) since I’ve put
fingers to keyboard in any manner other than what is required to retain my
employment and/or for the well-deserved mean tweets directed at the various and
sundry people and institutions who annoy the crap out of me on the regular. So
what brings me back to the keyboard now, you may ask? Good question. As it
turns out, I’ve been able to confirm two previously suspected facts about
myself recently. First, I most definitely have depression. It’s no different
than having a stupid, nagging cough. No amount of wishful or positive thinking
is going to make it better – but there are things that I can do to manage it
and keep the beast as tame as possible. Second, writing is one of those things
that actually helps me so I should do
more of it, not less. (And in my defense, I have spent the better part of the
last year “helping” write research papers and essays so that my beloved could
obtain his bachelor’s degree. Mission accomplished but not without much whining
from this gal, who is over APA. Completely.)
The more things change, the more they remain the same. Trite
cliché, yes, but also true in my case. That’s the other reason I paused on my
writing. Without anything new to say, I was just repeating the same stuff using
different words. Even I know that’s boring. Here’s a list of things that remain
true since the last time I checked in:
- · My imposter syndrome is alive and well
- · Adulting stresses me out and often gives me hives. True story. Anytime I think about filing my income taxes, I have an outbreak. This is similarly true for things like going to the dentist, DMV, etc.
- · I’m still trying to figure out my purpose and meaning in life. Why? I don’t know. I think that secret optimist way deep down believes that once I figure this out, the rest will fall into place. My overt cynic says to give it up – my purpose is to make money and pay the bills. I let them fight with each other.
There have been some changes and some wins over the past
year as well. I promise, we’ll talk about those one of these days. But today, I
want to talk about the importance of finding
your tribe. As a textbook introvert and a stubbornly independent
human being (I claim that my first words were, “Never mind, I’ll do it myself”
although my mom continues to refute me with her version of facts which is that
my first words were “woof-woof”.), I never really paid much attention to the
importance of having a tribe until recently. Now would be an excellent time to
cue up 1980’s hair band Cinderella’s song, “Don’t Know What You Got
[Til It’s Gone]” as the soundtrack to this story.
Ever since nursery school, I’ve been on the outside looking
in. My social awkwardness started at a young age, folks! Coupled with Krissy
Feldges’ hand-me-downs and a series of questionable haircuts, I wanted to
connect with people but couldn’t find a common ground or a connection. For some
reason, the other four year olds didn’t have dozens of invisible friends and
didn’t spend their free time reading books or making up stories. Weirdos. The
first 20 years or so of my life weren’t much different. I attended school, I
participated in extra-curricular activities, and I did stupid things to try to
fit in and connect with people but for the most part . . . epic fail. I was way
too much of an uptight goody-two shoes with a healthy fear of pissing off my
parents to do much other than fulfill other people’s expectations.
Oddly enough, I live in a state where people complain that
it’s hard
to make friends because everyone already has enough. Unlike 99% of
my neighbors, I don’t have a group of friends that I went to grade school with.
I don’t really keep in touch with friends from high school, although I did
attend a reunion. Once. I don’t think there’s any reason to do that again. I’ve
largely lost track of my college pals. I’ve met a lot of people in my “between
30 and 70 years” on this earth and some of them have become true, ride or die friends
– but in general, I just don’t form lasting bonds with many people. If you’re
reading this and you are a true friend, don’t go getting all in your feels
thinking that I’m not grateful for you. I am. I’m merely pointing out that I
suck at connecting with people and you’ve probably had to do the bulk of the
heavy lifting to maintain our relationship because this is not my jam. And I’m
grateful for it and for you.
Raised by a feminist mom who had me marching in parades for
the equal rights
amendment long before I could vote, I changed directions from
wanting to change the world to wanting to be a career woman like Melanie
Griffith in Working Girl, except
without the shoulder pads. (I have notoriously broad shoulders on my own
without any padding assistance, thank you very much.) And in spite of my
imposter syndrome, my depression, my self-doubt, and all the other things that
I do to get in my own way . . . I have a career.
I’ve been working at the same giant company for almost seven
years. When I accepted the job back in 2012, I remember thinking, “Oh, I’ll do this
for a year or so. I won’t stay here.” My intent was to work hard, collect the
steady paycheck, and use the security and peace of mind to plan my wedding. I
did all that and found myself unexpectedly liking the bureaucracy, chaos, and
nonsense of being an HR professional in this environment. In seven years, I
have worked for nine managers and I’ve had four distinctly different roles. Most
of the time, I’ve been snickering to myself and wondering when people are going
to catch on to the fact that I have no idea what in the holy heck I’m doing.
And the rest of the time, I’ve largely felt lonely and misunderstood – both of
which I’m quite familiar with. See also: my entire childhood.
A couple of years ago, my professional path crossed with
someone who should have been just another in a series of random internal
customers and acquaintances but who wound up playing a much different role. I
met him as part of an interview process for one of the umpteen lateral moves
I’ve made (side note, people: UP IS NOT THE ONLY WAY!) I’ve made. His
reputation preceded him – although to be honest, I’d never heard of the guy
before which goes to show you how clued in I am. But he did in fact have a
reputation for being . . . difficult. (Translation: he’s a dick) I was coached six ways from Sunday on how to
show up in the interview – but I did my own thing. I was told, “You’ll be
successful in this role if you can keep this guy from calling me all the time.”
I met him. I was myself for two reasons. First, who the hell
else am I going to be? Secondly, I was interviewing for a lateral move with no
pay increase so honestly, who am I trying to impress? I don’t know that I aced
the interview, but I got the job – and so much more than I bargained for. For two years, I did some of the most engaging and
meaningful work of my career. I made a difference. And I got paid for it!
Beyond that, I found an advocate and an ally that I never imagined I could need
or want. That guy? Let’s call him Dick. He was neither difficult nor a dick. He
was simply misunderstood and underappreciated – largely due to a unique
combination of futuristic thinking and wild impatience with both the status quo
and the complacency of the majority of those around him. [Not a] Dick made my
brain hurt and I worked my flat white girl ass off not to impress him but
because I believed in his vision and I wanted to see it come alive.
Keep in mind; I’m a girl with an average IQ who is one wrong
turn away from returning to the Bunny Store to sell Mountain Dew, Marlboros,
and Twinkies. (Although it’s not on my resume, don’t forget that I worked at
the Bunny Store for a full decade, which makes my tenure there my longest
standing role to date.) I went to a
liberal arts college, achieved an unimpressive and mediocre GPA and never
expected to amount to much – so every day that I pull a fast one on corporate
America and don’t get fired is a thrill to me. But suddenly, not only did I
find myself doing work I loved, I found that I had someone in my corner who saw
things in me that I couldn’t or wouldn’t see in myself.
I will never forget the day that [Not a] Dick looked me in
the eye and said, “I’m going to push you 50 yards past the edge of your comfort
zone. It’s going to be hard. You’re going to question yourself. You’re going to
question me. I need you to know that I am pushing you this hard because I
believe in you. You can go 100 yards past the edge of your comfort zone and then
some – but I’m only asking for 50. Yes, yes you can do it.” There haven’t been
many people in my life who’ve looked at me and really seen me. Nate was one,
and [Not a] Dick is another. Both left a profound impact on my life.
My career has evolved. I have a bigger job now. I felt so
fortunate because I had the continued opportunity to collaborate with [Not a]
Dick who was now my boss. Life was good, until the day the training wheels fell
off. You see, [Not a] Dick had fulfilled his journey and purpose at our giant
company, and although I still needed him, he was ready to start a new chapter
somewhere else. And a little over 100 days ago, I said goodbye to my advocate,
my ally, and more importantly, my friend.
We said goodbye about fifty times in as many awkward ways as
a socially impaired introvert and a recovering dick can. Lots of people at work
speculated that I was on my way out – because there was no way that I could
succeed without [Not a] Dick by my side. Not a work day goes by that I don’t
miss him, but I’m so proud of where his journey has taken him and of all the
amazing ways he is making his mark on the world. But now that I’ve had a taste
of what it’s like to have a work tribe, I feel a profound sense of emptiness
without my tribal leader.
I wonder if I’m the only one who feels this way. I’ve got a
sneaking suspicion that I’m in good company in feeling alone, misunderstood,
and like I’m faking it until I get caught or until I make it, whichever comes
first. What would happen if we all just showed up, authentically and with all
our warts? What if we lifted each other up instead of competing against one
another to see who has the most “Pinterest perfect” life?
If you are fortunate enough to have a tribe – or a tribal
leader – do me a favor. Call the Dick in your life and tell him you appreciate
him.
©2019 Princess D
