di·ver·gent
diˈvərjənt
adjective
- 1.tending to be different or develop in different directions."divergent interpretations"
synonyms: differing, varying, different, dissimilar, unalike, disparate, contrasting,contrastive;
- 2.MATHEMATICS(of a series) increasing indefinitely as more of its terms are added.
So, this is not about a book. Or a movie. It's about a girl who really tried to fit in the box, and failed. Epically.
Note: I wrote this part of it back in September. I had a different job then.
I had a work thing a while ago, a leftover legacy from a long-gone director who wanted to bring understanding and empathy to the office space. Everyone had to do it at some point, and even though I'd been a real boy for over a year at that point, this was my first opportunity to participate. First, I had to take an online assessment, one of those multiple choice and scale-of-1-to-10 things that are supposed to help someone smart somewhere on the other end of the computer analyze and understand me. Then, and this is the best part, I had to go to an all-day seminar to learn about my assessment and to do group activities aimed at building a better team.
I'm not that girl. I don't get summer-camp-giddy at the thought of spending time with strangers and discovering things. I don't want everyone's phone number after six of the most awkward hours on the planet cooped up in a lower level training room with people I will likely never see again in the normal course of human events. And I certainly don't want yet another doctor of something not medical playing shrinky dinks with my brain.
But. It was required. So I went. I walked in a bit early, which almost never happens, but it was in my building, one measly floor away from the corner cubicle I call home, and if I hadn't been early, it would have been weird. I walked in, and the very nice doctor greeted me and asked my name. Upon learning my identity, her eyes lit up in a slightly disturbing manner. She said she was very familiar with my profile and did the people I worked with know about me? I'm sorry, what? I must have looked very confused and/or my flight-or-fight struggle must been plain to see, because she followed with a seemingly benign question: And what do you do here? When I answered, her head cocked to one side as if she'd been struck, her eyes narrowed, and her mouth offered this: Do you even really like your job?
This was not an auspicious beginning to a day that had already been insanely frustrating before 9 am. I was not in the best place with my job at that point (clearly). Here's the thing: I knew that job was not "the one". You know, the job that you love to do so much that it's not really work…or whatever it is that society advocates when it comes to what adults do all day (or night, if that's your time). It was a filler, a rebound job, and I was definitely weighing my options when it came to rediscovering my passion. Of course, once you've set out on a life-plan and achieved that plan and then had the plan be not "the one" either, it gives you slightly skewed perspective. I digress. To sum up, my profile was "divergent" (that was the actual word, no lie) - seriously not like anyone else's in my office or in my job description.
Then I did it. I had readjusted my life plan and come up with an ideal that I thought would solve both my money issues (namely, the need to make some to support my family) and my attitude issues (as in, finding something I really loved to do so going to work every day wasn't an exercise in the wake up-work-pay bills-sleep hamster wheel of futility). And I did it. I found just the thing…and I scored an interview. It's a tough job market out there, so getting an interview felt like a gold star for the day, and scoring an interview for that new dream job felt big. Huge. Epic.
And then.
So, the thing about being disillusioned (dis·il·lu·signed, disəˈlo͞oZHənd/ adjective, disappointed in someone or something that one discovers to be less good than one had believed) is - I mean, that means taking away the illusion (il·lu·sion, iˈlo͞oZHən/ noun, a thing that is or is likely to be wrongly perceived or interpreted by the senses; a deceptive appearance or impression; a false idea or belief), i.e. maybe not reality. And the thing I learned about my dream job is that, well, passion doesn't always pay the bills. In this case, it paid peanuts, and styrofoam peanuts at that, not even actual nutritious good-fatty-oils peanuts. It wasn't really the answer I needed. It wasn't really real. I mean, it was a real job…it just wasn't really what I needed.
I spent some time being sad. Then I stopped being sad and put on my big girl pants and started being awesome - and landed an interview (and a job offer) for a better, different job that will be challenging on several different levels and that will give me a chance at a career. Granted, it's not a career I would have picked out of the line-up at a career fair, but then again, I last went to a career fair in high school (not the best time to be deciding the entire future course of life forever since I had crises on a semi-regular basis over my hair *smh*). But it is a chance. And what I do with that chance is entirely up to me, now that I've been given that opportunity.
My new supervisor told me the other day that mine is not the typical resume that one sees for people in my new position. I had to smile a little - um, yeah. It's not typical. But it's not bad. It's actually really great. Not fitting in the box may make some people uncomfortable, but it can also lead to new ideas and insights that may not occur to the very structured, and the very structured's methodical approach makes sure that the details get covered.
Note: I wrote this part of it back in September. I had a different job then.
I had a work thing a while ago, a leftover legacy from a long-gone director who wanted to bring understanding and empathy to the office space. Everyone had to do it at some point, and even though I'd been a real boy for over a year at that point, this was my first opportunity to participate. First, I had to take an online assessment, one of those multiple choice and scale-of-1-to-10 things that are supposed to help someone smart somewhere on the other end of the computer analyze and understand me. Then, and this is the best part, I had to go to an all-day seminar to learn about my assessment and to do group activities aimed at building a better team.
I'm not that girl. I don't get summer-camp-giddy at the thought of spending time with strangers and discovering things. I don't want everyone's phone number after six of the most awkward hours on the planet cooped up in a lower level training room with people I will likely never see again in the normal course of human events. And I certainly don't want yet another doctor of something not medical playing shrinky dinks with my brain.
But. It was required. So I went. I walked in a bit early, which almost never happens, but it was in my building, one measly floor away from the corner cubicle I call home, and if I hadn't been early, it would have been weird. I walked in, and the very nice doctor greeted me and asked my name. Upon learning my identity, her eyes lit up in a slightly disturbing manner. She said she was very familiar with my profile and did the people I worked with know about me? I'm sorry, what? I must have looked very confused and/or my flight-or-fight struggle must been plain to see, because she followed with a seemingly benign question: And what do you do here? When I answered, her head cocked to one side as if she'd been struck, her eyes narrowed, and her mouth offered this: Do you even really like your job?
This was not an auspicious beginning to a day that had already been insanely frustrating before 9 am. I was not in the best place with my job at that point (clearly). Here's the thing: I knew that job was not "the one". You know, the job that you love to do so much that it's not really work…or whatever it is that society advocates when it comes to what adults do all day (or night, if that's your time). It was a filler, a rebound job, and I was definitely weighing my options when it came to rediscovering my passion. Of course, once you've set out on a life-plan and achieved that plan and then had the plan be not "the one" either, it gives you slightly skewed perspective. I digress. To sum up, my profile was "divergent" (that was the actual word, no lie) - seriously not like anyone else's in my office or in my job description.
Then I did it. I had readjusted my life plan and come up with an ideal that I thought would solve both my money issues (namely, the need to make some to support my family) and my attitude issues (as in, finding something I really loved to do so going to work every day wasn't an exercise in the wake up-work-pay bills-sleep hamster wheel of futility). And I did it. I found just the thing…and I scored an interview. It's a tough job market out there, so getting an interview felt like a gold star for the day, and scoring an interview for that new dream job felt big. Huge. Epic.
And then.
So, the thing about being disillusioned (dis·il·lu·signed, disəˈlo͞oZHənd/ adjective, disappointed in someone or something that one discovers to be less good than one had believed) is - I mean, that means taking away the illusion (il·lu·sion, iˈlo͞oZHən/ noun, a thing that is or is likely to be wrongly perceived or interpreted by the senses; a deceptive appearance or impression; a false idea or belief), i.e. maybe not reality. And the thing I learned about my dream job is that, well, passion doesn't always pay the bills. In this case, it paid peanuts, and styrofoam peanuts at that, not even actual nutritious good-fatty-oils peanuts. It wasn't really the answer I needed. It wasn't really real. I mean, it was a real job…it just wasn't really what I needed.
I spent some time being sad. Then I stopped being sad and put on my big girl pants and started being awesome - and landed an interview (and a job offer) for a better, different job that will be challenging on several different levels and that will give me a chance at a career. Granted, it's not a career I would have picked out of the line-up at a career fair, but then again, I last went to a career fair in high school (not the best time to be deciding the entire future course of life forever since I had crises on a semi-regular basis over my hair *smh*). But it is a chance. And what I do with that chance is entirely up to me, now that I've been given that opportunity.
My new supervisor told me the other day that mine is not the typical resume that one sees for people in my new position. I had to smile a little - um, yeah. It's not typical. But it's not bad. It's actually really great. Not fitting in the box may make some people uncomfortable, but it can also lead to new ideas and insights that may not occur to the very structured, and the very structured's methodical approach makes sure that the details get covered.
