Facing the Stranger

This week I had my first job interview in over twenty-four years.    

It’s a strange thing for someone who’s fairly self-deprecating and relatively sarcastic to have to talk about themselves and give people the impression that they are somewhat mature, responsible and will somehow be an asset to the organization.   I can be that person, of course, but I don’t like to talk about it.  

I have to stop and think a lot before I speak.   My mind doesn’t coordinate as well with my mouth as it does with my typing fingers when communicating (and not always that well with my fingers either).   I have said stupid things way too often, and been burned by my rush to say what I think is on my mind.   I’m sure this comes across as indecisive at times, or rambling,  but I’d rather delay my answer a few moments than say something I shouldn’t say.

When I am asked the standard interview question, “Where do you see yourself in five years?” my initial thought response is, “I didn’t see “fortune teller” on the job description.  Should I go buy some Tarot cards?”  

Fortunately, my first level filter kills that idea.    My second thought response to where I want to be in five years is usually, “Gainfully employed.”  While this is a much more accurate gauge of my true feelings, it’s still not what I know they want to hear.   

Finally, I sputter out what I think will sound professional and attain the right level of enthusiasm, “In five years I would like to be recognized as a productive and valuable member of your organization.”  

In the end, what is said and done during the interview process means very little when it comes to the actual job.    I’ve seen lots of people who have spectacular resumes and give great interviews but fail miserably at performing the duties they were hired for.   I don’t want to be one of those people.  I’d rather lower their expectations and then surprise them.

Appropriately, I guess, the old song by David Bowie has been bouncing around in my head all week…

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the stranger)
Ch-ch-Changes
Don't want to be a richer man
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the stranger)
Ch-ch-Changes
Just gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me
But I can't trace time

I’m sure this means different things to different people, but when I “turn and face the stranger” I see the person that I  probably should be if I were more open to change.  

(Of course, I really would like to be a “richer man,” so me and Ziggy Stardust differ on that little nugget.   Besides, he was already rich, so it was easy for him to say that!)

Change is a constant in life, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.   I’m a prehistoric creature of habit.   Routine is my sanity.  

With so much “out of control” in my life, I cling to what is “normal.”   By that, I mean what is “normal” for me.    My “normal” would be strange to anyone else, and vice-versa.   In a world of bombings, global warming, car crashes, plane crashes, animal attacks, random gun violence, and Fox News…I find the comfort of my “normal” reassuring. 

People are always saying, “Get out of your comfort zone!”   They say it like all “comfort zones” are a bad thing.   I disagree.   It all depends on where that zone is located.    If your “comfort zone” is located in a bottle of Jack Daniels, then yeah, it is probably time to pack up and move out.   If your “comfort zone” is located in an unhealthy relationship, a miserable job, or a complete life of gluttonous sloth, then you should definitely, move on.

But there is a positive side to being in a “comfort zone” too.   If your “comfort zone” makes you happy, then you should stay there.   If leaving your “comfort zone” creates a high level of risk to yourself, your loved ones or others, then you might need to reconsider.    There is no shame in staying in a productive, healthy “comfort zone.” 

(I apologize for that meandering tangent.  I no longer feel like talking about “comfort zones.”)

Less than twenty-four hours after my interview, I was offered my new position.   In essence it is very similar to what I’ve been doing for the last 13 years, but with some added responsibilities and opportunities.   It means that I get to stay with the company that I’ve been with for most of my adult life.   It means I get the warm and fuzzy feeling of the familiar (no longer using the “C-zone” word) while also being offered some new challenges.   It’s a good thing.   I hope.

If nothing else, this returns me to a sense of stability, which I haven’t felt for a while.   That story is a page for another day, much like many of the other things that have happened to me and around me in the last couple of years.   Some things I’ll write about and some things I won’t.    Some secrets belong to the stranger and me.

Keep the Change

It is often said that “change is inevitable” and that is certainly true.   Most change comes in almost imperceptible increments over time:

·         One gray hair becomes two, then ten, then a hundred, then a head full.

·         We step on the scale and have gained a pound…then suddenly our clothes don’t fit…then we look in the mirror and say, “who is that fat person?”  

·         The naïve puff of a single cigarette or the taste of a solitary drink or the brief escape of a tiny pill start out controlled, but become an addiction.

We see change in our faces.   We see change in our spouse, in our kids.   We don’t always notice because it happens so slowly.   Some days we just wake up and say, “how did this happen?”

Like most people, I’m not a big fan of change.   I find comfort in stability.   I always have, even when I said that I didn’t.  When Connie and I first married, she told me that no matter what, she did not want our marriage to get “comfortable.”    She described it as the “death” of romance and excitement.   I promised that we would not fall into that trap and we would never become “comfortable.”   

We failed.  Miserably.

We did become “comfortable.”   Extremely “comfortable,” in fact.   She admits now that she likes our comfortable life, and it has not been what either of us would call a “death.”   Romance is definitely still there, just different.   It’s not always roses and candlelit dinners.  Sometimes it’s bringing them a cup of coffee or rubbing a sore back.   There are many ways to show your spouse you love them.   The best way is to not expect anything in return.

Having children changes your perspective rather quickly.     Happiness becomes less about what you think you’re going to do with your life than about what you want for someone else.   For most of our marriage we have lived inside a rare bubble of family unity, safety and (for lack of a better word) “coziness.”   We were blessed with three daughters who generally enjoyed being at home with us and (most of the time) got along well with each other.   I was spoiled.

The last few years have been a little different.   That incremental change process began speeding up.   The girls got older, their individual goals and dreams began to form and challenge our carefully established status quo.   Now I am facing what I have so long tried to ignore and hoped would just go away.   My family is going through drastic changes.   Life as I know it will never be the same.

In the last month, three momentous events have occurred in the lives of my daughters (and therefore, mine and Connie’s).    Taylor finished Middle School and will begin High School in the fall.   As our baby, this is difficult to deal with and not just a reminder, but a relatively violent slap in the face that we are getting older.

Ashlyn graduated High School last week and will start college in the fall.   Although she will still be living at home and commuting to classes (which makes me selfishly happy), it is still a major milestone.   Connie and I both agree that Ashlyn graduating is hitting us much harder than Shelby’s graduation three years ago.     I’m like that father in the car commercial.   I still see Ashlyn as that little blonde haired toddler, so quick to give a hug and a smile.    So young.

Then, last Saturday, Shelby and her friend Lindsey signed a lease on an apartment, and she will be moving out this summer.   Like I said, I have been spoiled by having all my girls at home for so long.   Shelby has been commuting to college classes for three years, and although I knew the day would come when she would go, it doesn’t make it any easier.    I wasn’t ready for her to grow up.  

I wasn’t ready for me to grow old.

I went with Shelby and Lindsey to look at the apartment complex and if you’ve heard the expression “bouncing off the walls,” that was their reaction to the possibilities of moving out on their own.   I was happy to see their incredible enthusiasm, but as they danced from room to room, pointing out decorating options and paint colors, I felt like I was suddenly dropped underwater and was watching it all in slow motion.   

That night, we held Ashlyn’s graduation party.   Our house was full of celebration and laughter, and as I sat in the corner, resting from a long day of food preparation and the trauma of being abandoned by my oldest child, I quietly watched as my girls interacted with their peers and family.   They are so different from me; more adventurous and open to new things…more relaxed and happy.  I don’t think change will kick them in the stomach like it seems to do me.   I hope not.  

I hope they stand firm in their beliefs but keep their minds open to the possibility of their own misconceptions.  

I hope they hold themselves to a higher standard, but do not place judgment on others.

I hope they realize that “going with the flow” doesn’t mean letting others take you down a river of destruction.  

I hope they find comfort and peace in their hearts, but keep their mind open to the beauty and mystery that life offers.  

I hope that they strive for positive change, and don’t let the things that are out of their control bring them down. 

Most of all, I hope I haven’t screwed them up too bad.   I am sure that one of the major concerns I have with them moving on and moving out is my insecurity that I haven’t done enough.   I have mini panic attacks that there is some major life lesson that I was supposed to teach them but somehow forgot.   What if they don’t know how to balance a checkbook?   Or boil eggs?   What if I never told them that Wrestling is fake or how to put air in a tire?   There are so many things to teach and so little time.

It’s not that I don’t have faith in them.   They are amazing girls who fortunately take more from their mother than they do from me.   I just don’t have a lot of faith in myself.   Some things never change.