Thursday, January 11, 2018

My Monday/Your Friday

When you work at a 24/7 news operation (or any 24/7 endeavor), as I do, there are people working all day, every day. And since no one person can actually work 24/7, there is a staggering of staff. My week may start on Monday, while someone else kicks off his or her week on what to others is Thursday. Which means that when I come in, whether at 8am or at midnight (and time of day is another story altogether), bouncing and energetic to start my week, I have to remember that for some of my shift mates, my Monday is actually their Wednesday, or Thursday, or even Friday. While I am coming off of a couple of down days to regroup and rest up, they may be counting the hours till their days off.

It's an interesting way to think about life. I recently talked to a theatre stage manager, who compared her first day on a project to the first day of school, with everyone walking in to a new space, with new "classmates" and new supplies. While she might feel first day excitement or jitters, she was inevitably surrounded by people experiencing the same, or at least, very similar, things.

In my 24/7 world, there may be overlap of experience or feeling. But there is also the difference that comes with shift work. My eagerness to start may be met with your eagerness simply to be done. My exhaustion at 8am may be met with your fresh-faced "hello" to the day.

And so, on a day-to-day basis, I am faced with the lesson that essentially faces us all every day--that our view of the world is really just OUR view, influenced by how open or closed our eyes might be any given moment or how many days are left till our next period of down time. So, I remember to calm my "Monday" bounce, just a little, when talking to co-workers for whom it is "Friday." I bear in mind that my extreme need for sleep at 8am after an overnight, or after a series of overnights, might seem odd to the 8am-ers. In work, and in life, you just never know when your Friday is someone else's Monday.

Wednesday, January 3, 2018

Just Another New Year's Ugh

I am not good at this New Year's thing. More so than even my birthday, the turn to a new year forces me to reflect on time far more than I'd like. I'd rather keep moving, rather than counting time that way. I'd rather be doing than thinking about what I've done.

Yet, forced by the circumstances around me, I glance back at the past year. I feel the exhaustion of twelve months of politics I'd rather not experience, much less immerse myself in with each work day. I feel the growing up of children and the aging of adults. I ache for the events that are over, and I dread slightly the ones to come. And yet, in the midst of it all, I glimpse the moments that shaped my year--the out-of-the-blue emails and coffees, and the opportunities that came from them, the instances when my kids and I really clicked, the new people who entered my life, and the new things I allowed myself to discover.

I would still rather be doing than thinking, still rather it be the week after New Year's than that Eve or day. But it turns out that I have a success or two to carry me into the new year. It turns out that the surprises of 2017 suggest that there will be surprises in every year, if I allow myself to see them. So, I happily forge into 2018. Now that the "New Year's" is over, let the new year begin.

Tuesday, January 2, 2018

Who Let Me Out?

I spent the holiday season taking the scarce non-working, non-sleeping moments to walk and shop in the city, darting in and out of both "old favorite" stores and "never get to" ones. I came home with bags of items planned for and not, and I gave wrapped and bagged and shipped and not-even-wrapped gifts for Chanukah and post-Chanukah, and post-post Chanukah. And all the while, I said I should stop letting myself out of the house, if all the shopping was what came from being out of the house.

And then, in those shopping moments and in the giving moments, I thought about the moments, just a few years ago, when being out of work meant I really, really couldn't let myself out of the house. When every purchase was questioned, every dollar thought through, every choice weighed in the context of whether I'd work tomorrow or next week or next month, or maybe not for a really long time. And I began to realize that this year's shopping sprees (which, in the scheme of holiday shopping, might not even qualify as sprees) were not just an expression of this year. They were a celebration of a multi-year journey filled with ups and downs and disappointments and discoveries. They were a celebration of a weight being lifted (at least temporarily), and of the recognition that it is sometimes overnight work that lifts the weight. They were a celebration of the opportunities that come along when you least expect them. And they were a celebration of the people who have hung in during the good days and the not-so-good ones.

As I enter this new year, I hold on to that feeling of letting myself out of the house--and I reflect on the journey that has made being "let out" such big deal. Sometimes, it's not so much about what you give, or about what you get. Sometimes, it's really about where you allow yourself to wander...