Path Finder

Several times at work today, I found myself sitting at my desk hands clasped in front of me, my eyes staring blankly forward, and my shoulders hunched over.  I would attempt to summon energy and interest, glancing back to the pile of invoices waiting to be processed or dozens of bundled coins waiting to be identified, and just sigh instead.  It was as if my entire body was on strike, refusing to do these tasks. 

Sure, part of it was just laziness.  I’m sure another part of it was just the typical mid-week doldrums that we all go through until that blessed Friday rolls around.  But the bigger part, the more powerful part, was that physically, emotionally, and mentally, I was immobile.  It felt like I had a transplanted organ that my body was rejecting.  I just couldn’t do it anymore.

In an attempt to refuel my energy, I let my mind wander over to my mental “Blog Vault” and began thumbing through ideas to write about for tonight.  Suddenly, one emerged from the shadows and came abruptly forward.  It was a story I had been meaning to write for ages but other ideas kept popping up in it’s place.  And it was especially significant since it relates precisely to the mood I was in all day.

About a year ago, I received a note at work requesting my presence for “business luncheon” with the head of the company and the COO.  Initially, I panicked.  What did they want to see ME about?  I wondered.  I asked my supervisor about it and she directed me to another coworker who had been invited to the same luncheon some time before that.  I drilled her with questions. 

“Is it just me and the two head honchos?  What do they ask?  How long does it take?” I asked fervently.

She reassured me that it was no big deal. 

“You just sit in there with about six other colleagues and discuss how you found this job and how you like it.  It’s not bad.  And they pay for the lunch,” she smiled. 

Ok, so maybe it won’t be so bad.  A free lunch is nice.  But you know what they say….there’s no such thing as a “free lunch”.

Along with the terror if being put on the spot with questions, I now had to figure out what to order for this lunch.  I was given the menu and began scanning it for something that looked appealing.  I figured most people were going to order something simple and cold, like a salad or sandwich.  Since I’m not a huge fan of either of those, my eye happened upon something called a Seafood Burrito.  It sounded good enough, so I checked it off and handed it back to my HR person before I could think about it anymore.

When the day arrived, my stomach was in knots.  Even though I knew that I wouldn’t be alone, I still felt like I was entering a pressure-cooker.  I walked into the elegant conference room and sat down, being joined one by one by both familiar and unfamiliar faces.  The owner and the COO had not come yet, so we all sat there, quietly fiddling with our clothes or looking around absently.  I began cracking a few jokes, as I often do in uncomfortable situations, and even got a few laughs before the two finally joined us as well.  Then we all fell deadly silent.

The COO came in first, greeting us all warmly and trying to break the ice.  She began passing out the labeled Styrofoam containers.  As each one was opened, a simple uncomplicated salad or sandwich was revealed.  As I opened mine, I was assaulted.  Or should I say, a-salted.  The pungent smell of spicy seafood immediately overtook my senses and I worried it was going to drift into the nose of every person in the room.  I thought about closing the lid and faking a stomach cramp, but I was afraid I would draw more attention by not eating.  So, despite my tangled nerves, when the head of the company finally entered and sat down, encouraging us to eat, I took a few polite bites and swallowed hard.

After we had all had a few moments to eat, the two heads began to explain the purpose of this meeting and what they hoped to accomplish with us.  I nodded along, my mouth full of shrimp and rice that I willed to enter my stomach without issue.  Then they asked us to go around introducing ourselves and telling them how we each happened upon this job.  They began on the other side of the table, which I hoped would give me ample amount of time to come up with a respectable answer. 

The truth was that my stomach wasn’t just churning because of being in such close proximity to my big bosses or the food poisoning I might be receiving from a tainted fish burrito.  It was because I knew deep down how I wanted to answer that question.

“Why am I here?  I am here because I was foolish enough to believe my degree in English would be broad enough to land me a job anywhere and that at any moment I would easily find the jobs that would lead me down a successful and happy career path.  Instead, after floundering for years by sending out resumes to countless faceless companies, but only offered job interviews for jobs I wasn’t interested in or was over-qualified for, I accepted any position that would just pay my bills, promising myself that someday I would get back on the path I was meant to be on.  But as time continued to roll on, and the workday became longer and more numbing, I found myself so strayed from my path that it had become overgrown and lost to me. 

I’m here because I threw my hands up and accepted mundaneness instead of profundity.  I’m here because I had finally convinced myself that that path was just a mirage anyway, that it wouldn’t have made me happy, and that maybe this was the way I was meant to go.  Because surely if I was meant to go a different way, the path would have revealed itself by now.

But more importantly and truthfully, I’m here because I wasn’t brave.  Because I didn’t want to give myself a chance, because I feared making a mistake, and because I didn’t think I deserved anything more.  And now I am so mired in the muck of my indecision that I fear it will eventually overtake me and all that will be left will be a single tear in my blank face that said to the world I wanted more.  I could’ve had more.  Done more.  Been more.  If only I tried.”

I had just finished my inner monologue when suddenly the focus had fallen on me.  It was my turn.

“I’m here because I thought it might be a great opportunity to foster my love of history as it pertains to a practical form of art that we all tend to take for granted because it’s so often nestled in our wallets or purses.  I hope to learn all I can, and what I’ve learned so far is an interesting insight into the ideals that make the countries around the world so unique,” I replied as if I were on a job interview or competing for Miss America.  My answer satisfied my boss enough so that he could move onto the next victim, and I just breathed a sigh of relief.

I thought back to that luncheon today, recalling the sour feeling in my stomach brought on by the realization that I was once again doing something I didn’t care about and unsure as to how to release myself from the constraints I bound myself in.  I stared down at the work laid in front of me, sighing once again with frustration.  It was months later and I was still in the same spot.  Stuck. 

Something has to change.  I have to change- especially because it’s not just about me anymore.  I owe it to my family and loved ones to find a way to be happy.  It’s time to get the weed-whacker out and dig up that path before another year rolls over and I sink deeper still into my professional quagmire.  I guess that’s the one bright spot of that memory.  It forced me to face my reality and encourages me to make changes to my life.  

And I think I’ll start by swearing off fish burritos.