This morning at work I had the meeting I’d been anticipating for nearly six months. You can imagine the thoughts racing through my mind when I came in to find that e-mail I’d been dreading to find every morning since January. When ten o’clock rolled round and I stepped into the room where I felt my fate would be decided, I had already gone through bouts of anger, depression, and nervousness. I was ready to defend myself if need be and I was ready to let go, collect my things, and go home if that was what had to happen.
The meeting was nothing at all like what I expected and, for the first time in six months, I feel as though I might be secure in my job and that I might have something to offer.
The boss was concerned I was just going through the motions, devoting myself to the grunt work that needed to get done each week and not spending any time being creative, which is what they hired me to do. Never once did he threaten my job or tell me I was doing things poorly. It wasn’t what I expected at all. He was basically just trying to figure out why I wasn’t writing more things.
There are communication problems in my office. That’s been the problem. For six months, maybe even before that, I have been getting the feeling from a variety of sources, including, occasionally, the man himself, that what I write is not good. I’ve been given the feeling that he didn’t like what I was writing, that he didn’t want me writing new things, that he basically wanted me to do the grunt work of keeping our CRM campaigns going and that was it. That I was wrong in those impressions was a breath of fresh air.
I left the meeting feeling energized, like a weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. I didn’t feel like I had to worry about losing my job before the house closing went through anymore. I felt like I could start stretching my creative muscles again, that I was being encouraged to do so. It was strange. I felt that maybe I might last there for a while longer.
Add to this already refreshing day the fact that Stephanie got the last bit of paperwork to the mortgage company, that we might be approved by Wednesday, and that we might actually have a closing date one day earlier than our original date, and you have the makings of a good day. I fucked up dinner, but that was a small price to pay for an otherwise life-altering twenty-four hours.
So, I had a turnaround. I’m not worried anymore. Unless, of course, this is just the calm before the storm…
Okay. Who wants to slap me first?