Monday, January 17, 2011

Updates from the job and other thoughts

I am ploughing through my second week of work. So far, so good. Very busy. I really enjoy the flexible hours and the challenging atmosphere. It's not a very orthodox position, which is partly why it fits my personality.

Unfortunately, as much as I would love to divulge secrets from the inner sanctum of the global entertainment and financial industries, I am bound to a confidentiality contract. (Literally.)

I will say that I've been blessed with a patient and undemanding boss, who has given me a lot of rope to discover the most efficient way to achieve various goals. He has neither nagged nor prodded me and so far, it's been working out fine (with some minor adjustments here and there).

One of the highlights of last week was the moment I received my newly-printed box of business cards. I checked out the colour and font (eggshell, Helvetica) and a thought occurred to me: "Fuck freelance, corporate rocks!"

Okay, clearly, it was in jest. But wow, after seven (7!) years of working gig to gig, paycheque to no-cheque, it's nice to take a break from scouring job listings for awhile.

Scanning my resume, you could easily mistake me for someone older, a seasoned flake:

Retail sales associate
TV and newspaper reporter
Magazine contributor
Editor-in-Chief of a business publication
Piano teacher
TV News Producer
Photography Assistant
Assistant Director

(I think that's it. I might be missing a couple.)

Anyway, overall, if I had to assess my experiences up to this point, I think I've lived a pretty fulfilling life at the ripe old age of 24.

My mom says I've always got along with old(er) people, even as a kid. I enjoyed hanging out with grandmas and grandpas (my own and other people's), had conversations with chemistry professors at buffet lines, and even now, I have a hard time retaining friendships that don't stimulate me intellectually. I don't know how this fits into what I was saying, but maybe the meandering way my life has gone is a reflection of my curiosity and appetite for the novel and unknown. Or maybe they are choices I've made because I've stopped giving a shit about where I'd wind up as long as it got my mom off my back about being unemployed. Yeah, that sounds more like it.

So here's to another 7 years of hopes, anxieties, and professional suicide. All in a year's work =)

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