baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Tie That Could Become My Noose So, my boss is gone this week. Which basically means that I get to be editor for a whole five days. Whoo-hoo! Oh yeah! Golly gee! Hot damn! Whoa Nelly! Umm, well, not exactly. At my first paper, it was a given that I would need to be flexible in matters of job duties. It was a small publication, and a small graphics staff. And, I knew from the start, that the job would include a lot more than just sitting in front of the mac drawing polygons all day. So, after a while, I became pretty good at juggling infographics and editor-like-duties. I would draw the infographic, assign other graphics, go to meetings, and basically act like I really enjoyed being in management. I even wore a tie everyday. And it worked. When a Northern California paper tried to lure me over with a hefty salary-increase, The Small Paper displayed the carrot of a promotion (along with an official job title) before my nose and I, in all my laziness and love of Southern California, decided to stay. For the next year, I became a true, honest-to-god manager. And you know what? I didn't really like it. I tried to like it. I tried to understand that having my career on the *management track* was the best way to go. I tried to understand that this was what people do when advancing their professional lives. Ughh. Maybe, I'm not much of a go-getter. Or maybe, I'm just the lazy sort-but I just didn't enjoy the late nights, the arguing, and the wide assortment of political cues that accompanied the white shirt and tie charade. I simply wanted to design and draw at work, and then go home to either play with Girl-Unit or the guitar. Life happens at home for me. Work is very nice and very important-but a distant second place to The Real Stuff-my relationship, my music, my house, my garden, my friends. And I didn't like all the trappings of management-the pager latched onto my belt loop like a digital leash, or the handshaking and butt-kissing I had to do with any assortment of folks who, despite their efforts, couldn't convince me that their smiles were sincere. I wasn't cut out for it-and, for the longest time, I felt as if I was some sort of loser with no gumption or inclination to forward my own career. But, soon my silent prayers were answered. Through an odd string of events, my graphics, although I wasn't actively looking for another job, ended up at on my current editor's desk. She called, I jumped for joy, she offered me a job, I peed into a little cup and, zipadeedoodaa, I was out of management and into a plain ol' artist job-and with more money to boot. I still remember my conversation with the head editor of The Small Paper the afternoon I announced my resignation. *You know, R,* Mr. Top Editor said, *a job with that paper means you'll be doing small projects-and that you relinquish all the clout you've built up here with us. You may not be happy there considering what you've been doing now for the past year.* He had no clue. I couldn't tell him just how happy I was to relinquish whatever clout and responsibility he claimed I had. I mean, how do you tell someone who's done so much for your career that it was all a lie. *I didn't want all of this,* I wanted to yell. *Everyone told me that I wanted this, but I don't. No! No! No! No! No!* (Insert little ol' me jumping up and down like a spoiled brat-Waaaahhhh!) So with a goodbye cake, a candle-lit party and a teary-eyed farewell with the woman who was my boss, I walked away from The Small Paper ready to disappear into the great machine that is journalism. I was ready to fall silently into the crevices of this huge dinosaur I work for, and quietly do what I love to do: report, illustrate write and design infographics. But something happened on the way to my intentions, folks-yuk, yuk, yuk. Disappear I did not. Somehow, I've stepped onto the career ladder again. I've been singled out and now, it's becoming increasingly clear to me that my editor fully intends me to run the show in her absence. Somehow, this wasn't the plan. I appreciate the accolades. I'm flattered by the confidence she has in me. And I certainly understand that the alternative (not having a job at all) is much worse than being asked to run a department for one lousy week. But, there's a push and pull taking place here that unnerves me something fierce. I'm still at odds with choosing between a career and a life. Journalism is filled with folks who live and inhale newsprint. They come in early, they leave late, they work weekends-they're always there when news happens. And they should be. That is simply the nature of the beast that is journalism. And, though I can't deny that part of me loves to give himself completely to a job he loves and enjoys, I know that, in the long run, despite the money and whatever other reward that accompanies it, having a great career means a huge personal sacrifice. One I don't think I want to make. But, I'll play along this week. And I'll do a great job. For the next five days, this department will run as smoothly as it does when my editor is here. And, at the end of it all, I'll be extremely happy to go back to my cubicle. I'll be happy just being little ol' me. 1:25 p.m. - 2001-04-16 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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