I scrunch up my nose. “I don’t know. It’s good advice, I guess. But maybe I’m not in a contemplative mood or something.” Then without meaning to, a yawn overtakes me before I can say anything else.
“Or maybe you’re not caffeinated enough?” He smirks.
“Ha! Yeah, I didn’t sleep well last night. But I should pass on more coffee—otherwise I won’t sleep tonight either.”
“Sorry to hear that.” He cocks his head. “Maybe some tea? Decaf?”
I shake my head. “No, thanks. I’ve occupied this seat for too long. I should probably get home and let a paying customer take it.”
“Don’t worry about it. Stay as long as you like. It’s good for business to have a pretty woman sitting in here.” He shrugs a shoulder toward the window. “In fact, if you want to sit in the window there, a cup of tea is on the house.”
“Ha. Thanks for the compliment, but I’m not quite sure what you’re trying to sell here.”
He cringes a little at his own statement and says, “Umm … I suppose that did sound sort of sketchy. I just meant … ah … anyway. …”
I laugh. “On that note, I guess it’s time for me to head out.”
“Of course.” He laughs. “Sorry about that. Sometimes I put my foot in my mouth, and then I ramble. Like I’m going to do right now. So, yes, it’s probably best you leave. See you tomorrow.”
It’s a statement and not a question. I can’t decide if that’s charming or presumptuous, but I nod anyway. “Have a good night,” I say.
“You too.”
As I leave, I vaguely feel him watching me, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about this or, again, if I’m reading into things now that I’m single. It was all probably innocent banter since I assume he still thinks I’m engaged.
Oh my god, why am I caring about this? Am I that ready to couple up again? What is wrong with me? Didn’t I learn anything from that relationship book? Right now I need to focus on me and learn from past mistakes.
ONCE HOME, THOUGH I’m tempted to see what’s on television, I instead take out my journal. All this introspection and hindsight is making me wonder: If I was stubborn enough to keep Neil even when he clearly wasn’t right for me, maybe I was also blind to the problems with my job—that is, I just kept doing what I thought I needed to do, but without any true insight or plan.
With my pen poised above a blank page I ask myself, So what did I like about my job? Truth is that I never thought much about my job until I lost it. I thought about it, but more in a what-do-I-need-to-accomplish-today way. Maybe that’s the first insight. And so I start writing, I liked that my job had defined goals. I knew what to expect most days, and I knew that to succeed I needed to hit certain benchmarks. I also liked the people I worked with, which is why I never really felt the need to see what else was out there. Everyone was friendly and creative. There were the occasional backstabbers or toxic types, and at times I worked for some people who weren’t my favorites, but I eventually managed to navigate myself away from them and their projects.
I also generally liked our clients, a mix of large corporations and start-ups, and all savvy about marketing, advertising, and public relations. Sure, there were sometimes last-minute changes to a file when it was due to a printer or a press release that I was just about to send out, or the annoying clients who never liked anything we presented to them and would go multiple rounds before settling on something they’d sign off on. Since the people pleaser in me liked making clients happy, in a weird way I would work extra hard to deliver for those difficult ones.
Did I have a natural talent for the job? I guess I like people, I work hard, and I want to make everyone happy. These are probably the characteristics for a good employee in any job, but they don’t necessarily mean I have a natural affinity for public relations. My campaigns usually did well, and I rose through the ranks, but was I really a whiz? I don’t know.
Then I got fired. Out of the blue. Clients supposedly saying they weren’t happy with my work. Then the rumor that I was losing accounts. I set down my pen for a moment to shake off these thoughts. Before focusing on the negative, I’m still trying to remember the positive.
So what else did I like about my job? I liked my paycheck. Granted, a practical and not very insightful reason, but if I can’t be honest in a journal for my eyes only, then there’s no point to this exercise. I also liked getting dressed for work every day (one of the little things I took for granted now that I don’t have anyplace to go). I liked client praise and a job well done. My success at work was tied to my identity (or so I’m realizing), and I liked that I felt secure and settled—something I realize was a luxury now that I’m incredibly unsettled. None of these things, though, are particularly tied to the field of public relations.
Instead, I try to think back to individual campaigns or projects I was excited about; and the ones that always spoke to my heart were the outreach programs that focused on kids. Our clients would sponsor golf outings to raise scholarship money or supply a school with books or computers. At the holidays, I set up a gift-giving drive at work for underprivileged children and suggested it to my clients, as well. My own interest in running meant that I always loved organizing a 5K run to raise money for a cause. Also, since I did a lot of volunteer type stuff during college with some of the larger organizations, such as United Way and Habitat for Humanity, and made contacts through that, it helped early on in my career when I wanted to organize corporate-sponsored charity events. I always found these types of projects much more satisfying to organize than figuring out the best way to introduce, say, a new line of soft drinks.
Huh? This might be my first real insight into my career. Trouble is, I’m not sure exactly where to go with this. I look around my Gold Coast condo and then down at my DIY manicure, instantly missing my nail salon. I’m not sure I’m the nonprofit type, considering that the first thing I liked about my job was the paycheck. Granted there are some nonprofits that are pretty profitable, but they tend to be more professional organizations, like the American Bar Association or American Dental Society, rather than a legal aid clinic or the causes I was trying to raise money for in the first place. I think about the people I worked with at these organizations who were very nice, but clearly their paychecks didn’t allow them a weekly blowout at Dry Bar. Does this make me superficial and materialistic? Probably.
With that last insight, I put down my pen and close my journal. I need a break from this self-reflection business and turn on the television for some Bravo. I’ve earned the right today to unwind with people who are not only a bigger mess, but also more superficial and materialistic than I am.
On Friday, Jordan meets me at the London House rooftop bar. Though I’m on a spending ban for clothes, cocktails and coffee get a free pass since they get me out of the house. I’m here early, as usual these days, ready for any excuse to leave my place; while Jordan bustles in late, also as usual.
“Hello, hello.” She hugs me and apologizes. “Just a last-minute fire before I left.”
“No worries. Did you extinguish it?”
“More like kicked the can down the road. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. The other side is being unreasonable, but I’m not going to let them ruin my Friday night.” She picks up the drinks menu, scans it, and promptly orders the house cocktail.