Workin' It

“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson) I’m a worker. I’ve always been. At 11 years old, I wanted money for the movies and ice skating, so I started babysitting. At 13, I figured I could make some dough performing, and so I joined a group and made some scratch while belting out Duke Ellington montages. Then, I applied for a weekly nannying position during the four free minutes I had somewhere between my dance classes, schooling, performing, and singing wedding and/or funeral gigs. I can’t remember ever asking my parents for movie money or for their credit card to buy mascara: I was flush with cash. I had earned it, and it made everything I bought feel more like “mine.” When college came around, it made sense that I’d continue my working streak, taking a paid intern position at Christie’s right after 9/11 while the anthrax scare took place in my building at Rockefeller Center. Daily safety threats and the Argentinian banking crisis made things interesting, but it also taught me how to focus despite the world falling down around me. Then, I decided to bartend for a questionable, and very wealthy, Russian restaurant owner in the Upper East Side. Spending my weekends behind the bar taught me how to listen. It also taught me that a little ego-stroking and an expertly made gin gimlet could help me buy purple suede pants and Louis Vuitton scarves while my friends were looking for change in the sofa cushions. The most useful thing I learned from my time babysitting all the way up to my directorial positions is this: timing is everything. Strike while the iron is hot. If it’s not hot, turn the stove on for them. And no one would stay in a bath after it got cold, so why stay in a position that’s no longer feeling “good?” Yep, “good.” And in a world where “good” is the antithesis of “reasonable,” I did something considered REALLY “good” today: I resigned from my managerial position. I had worked very hard to get here. I had the corner office and “great pay.” I had assistants and decision-making power. It was everything a high school counselor tells students they should aspire to, and here I was, handing in my keys and phone at 3:00 pm, and walking through the office parking lot for the very last time. Why did I do it? Well, I had stopped “working.” Sure, I showed up every day and did my job, but I wasn’t really “working” as hard as I could. The amazing thing about corporate is that you’re allowed to think, but just enough to do your job. You’re allowed to ask questions, just as long as they don’t lead to change. You can work to promote your company, but it gets kind of difficult when you’re supporting practices you don’t agree with. You can take a vacation, but you have to ask permission. You can work hard, but not so hard that you threaten the hierarchy, and not so intelligently that you force things to improve too quickly. And it’s because I felt that I wasn’t truly allowed to “work” that I decided to work harder and do something “good.” Counter-intuitive, sure, but a lot of things are “reasonable” that we’d never consider “good.” War seems “reasonable,” but it’s not “good.” Doctors used to leech patients because it seemed “rational,” but it sure as hell wasn’t “good.” We’re told acid peels are “practical” solutions, but I can’t say they’re “good” for anyone. The proverbial bath water had become cold. It was time to get out, towel off, and get on with something that felt, well, good. What now? Well, I’ve gone straight from the frying pan and into the fire. Freelance writing, school (I’ll soon be a certified life & career coach), and an intensive marketing course starting Monday means that even though I’ve left a “job,” I’ve once again found “work.” And though it seems illogical and certainly not “reasonable” at the present moment, I would say that performing my calling in this world and doing my own work in purple suede pants feels pretty damn “good.” Or maybe that’s just the gimlet talking.