I’m starting a new job in the morning, and I have some serious pre-game jitters. You know when you’re the next one in line for the roller coaster and waiting at the gate for the car to come in? In fact, I’m up way past my bedtime writing this because I’m stalling. Going to bed means waking up, and waking up means it’s time to go to work. At my new job. Where people will be looking at me and (in my mind) making snap judgments based on my age, my post-baby belly pooch and whether they deem me friendly enough.
Every Facebook personality test I ever take puts me squarely in the “introvert” category, but I do give a reasonable facsimile of the opposite. This is because when I was younger I was an extrovert for real — I craved the spotlight, even to a fault. I did pageants, I was in show choir and musicals, I took all kinds of dance and I loved every second of me. Encore? Why sure!
Now though? I prefer anonymity to the point that I use a fake name on social media. I do not want to stick out in any way beyond my enormous dimples, which give me no choice. And the thought of meeting 50 new people all one day is making me want to crawl into the crib with my daughter, steal her pacifier and curl up in a fetal position.
I realize that this is ridiculous, and that I sought out this new job so it’s not being forced upon me.
But still.
What the hell happened to me?
Continue reading “Old dog, new job”
40 is the New F Word 