So I started my new job on Monday, which I was very excited to do. It’s been 10 weeks since I was laid off and devastated. You can read all about it here if you enjoy other people’s sufferings. Which I’m sure you do, that’s why you read blogs in the first place, isn’t it?
Anyway, I had really healed from that horrible experience and was excited about having a desk, a place to go during the day, to be a contributing member of society again and all the like. I bought some new clothes, got a snazzy new haircut and even whitened my teeth. Woohoo! Cheri 3.0 was in effect.
We all know that starting a new job is difficult. It’s awkward. You never know what you’re exactly supposed to be doing. Other people don’t know exactly what they should be doing with you. You feel in the way a lot. You want to scream from the top of your desk, “I’m cool! Really! You’re all going to love me!” Or at least I do. But I refrain. There’s nothing worse than someone telling you that they’re cool. Cuz you know if you have to tell someone you’re cool, well, you’re probably not.
In these first three days of working, I’ve had a few setbacks. Reading over the new employee handbook. Filling out paperwork for insurance. I just found myself thinking, “What the hell am I doing here?” I can’t shake the feeling that I belong at my old job, at my old desk. I am really surprised by those feelings because I thought they were gone for good. But not at all, turns out.
I felt that I completely and utterly fit in at my last job. I felt fulfilled by the work I did. I felt comfortable. There was room for growth. I thought I would retire from that company. Never in a million years would I have thought things would transpire the way they did. So starting over in a new job opened up those old wounds.
I came home from work yesterday crabby. Irritated. Sad. I cried. Mourned the loss of that job again. Then got mad at myself for crying about it because at least I have a job. And I’m even making more money. And it’s closer to my house so I can come home on lunch and see my boys. (Ok now, I’m getting mad at myself again).
But here’s the thing, I’m now in a different field. Not only have I lost what I considered my perfect job, now I’ve lost my first career love – Journalism. I’ve now gone over to the dark side – PR. I still consider myself a journalist. Maybe I always will. But now I’m in PR and have a lot to learn. And it’s going to take some time because these emotions are still relatively new and starting all over at a new company just opened them up again.
The sooner I put on my big girl panties, man up and all that stuff, the better. Life doesn’t always turn out the way you expect it to. Nothing is a given. And I’m slowly but surely learning to play the hand I’m dealt. Even if that means I can no longer call myself a journalist.
Nah, you know what? Fuck it, I’ll always be a journalist.