I think of a jillion things to write about here during the day or when I’m in the shower or otherwise not at the keyboard. Then when I sit down to write, my mind goes blank and all I can think of is what I ate for lunch or what I did at work today. And who wants to read about that? Anywho. Brains love to shut down when you need them most.
I was thinking today about how incongruent my age is with my career (and I use that term very loosely). Meaning, I’m surrounded by younger people who are in higher level positions than I am. The other day I overheard someone say how they had “just turned 31” and today another person was complaining about how they were “nearly a 30 year old woman with a good job and a house…” and apparently weren’t being treated as such by their parents. Yes, you know I rolled my eyes.
I know a lot of it is an education issue. Unlike all the 20-30 somethings at the office, I don’t have a Master’s or any degrees above my lowly Bachelor’s. Nothing is stopping me from going back to school except the lack of desire for anything other than maybe a liberal arts degree or something humanitarian in nature.
Besides the education thing, there’s also an ambition thing. Climbing the ladder or being high woman on the totem pole has never been my thing. The thought of having to manage people gives me hives and I have no desire to be a “leader” in that way.
Best I can tell, I’m pretty ok with all of this, as lazy and unambitious as that may sound to some. It’s just interesting to me. I find the difference between me and my office mates thought-provoking, or something. Our mindsets in no way match up. Its like some sort of social science experiment/phenomena that I’m observing from inside the gray fabric walls of my cubicle.
Maybe that makes me weird. Probably.
So here’s to owning your weirdness.