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?
When I graduated from high school I went off to another state, to a huge university where I knew no one. Then, I moved to Chicago all by myself to start my career, a huge city where I knew no one. I relished the idea of starting completely from scratch, re-inventing myself and seeing where the adventure took me. I wanted new. I craved new. I was always looking for the next big thing.
But now I’m almost 40, and while I’m about one-quarter excited about the adventure, I’m three-quarters self-conscious about saying something in a meeting that I think is pretty brilliant but will make them all whisper “Well, she’s new.”
I spent the past 5 years of my life with my previous company, and it still hasn’t completely sunk in that I won’t be going there in the morning. That’s where I am (was) confident in what I am (was) doing, and where all my friends (still) are. My new gig won’t be too much different, and I do think I’ll be just fine once I figure it out, but when you’re 39 and comfy it’s really hard to close one door and leap through the open window next to it. (Literally. My new office is two doors down from my old one.)
Fortunately I already know a few people who work at my new company, which is helping to ease the nerves a little. And in a few weeks we’ll be moving into a brand-new building, so we’ll all be in the same boat of not knowing where the hell the restrooms are.
Okay. I really need to get some shut-eye so that I don’t suffer from puff-eye when I meet these people in, oh wow, 12 hours. So here’s to this old dog learning some new tricks!
40 is the New F Word 