Well, okay—my last day at Megalithic Software Company. So many emotions running through me; really hope that, well, hope and peace and anticipation prevail.
My earworm for today
is Mary Black singing “Bless the Road”.
It was one of my BFF’s favorite songs—she who embodied the philosophy of blooming where you’re planted. This has never been my strong suit, at least it doesn’t seem so. So I need all the encouragement I can get.
I noticed new leaf growth on my walks.
Seems appropriate
because I’m thinking about new leaves and growth.
So, I’m being laid off this week (and don’t have another job lined up), still can’t hold a fork in my left hand while two fractures are healing and on Saturday I got a summons for jury duty 20 days after knee surgery.
Yay.
I had an interesting conversation last week with a colleague, generally around my work situation. I told him that I’m possibly ready for a pivot, and my strategy is to look for companies that are doing interesting things, then network into conversations about what there product management needs are. He responded with a story that really struck me:
Some years ago he was selling a house and discovered there was
black mold under the roof. So he had a black mold remediation guy come out.
While the guy’s guys were working on the roof, my colleague chatted with him.
Turns out he used to be a data base administrator before he got into black mold
(so to speak).
How did that happen; why the switch?
“I got tired of having to relearn my job every couple of years.
Mold stays the same.”
Well—shoot; ain’t that the truth. At what point do you decide
that the treadmill of tech-du-jour requires that you run as fast as you can
just to stay in one place? (Currently it’s AI, and job descriptions are asking
for 5-7 years’ experience in a field that sprouted essentially last year.) Next
year it’ll be something else.
Then my colleague asked me, “I’ve got a friend at Company X,
cyber crime intel—what do you tell him that you can do for his company?”
And I got that deer-in-headlights look.
Not only because I absolutely loathe with an incandescent hatred
touting myself, but also because—as I told him—I don’t know how I can help them
until I understand what their needs and gaps are.
That was a revelation, because it articulated what I’ve been
feeling for the past couple of months, as I cannot get excited about any of the
jobs recruiters and headhunters have brought to me. For me and at this point in
time, that’s the wrong way to go about this. My strategy—explore companies and
challenges, then present my solutions—is the right one. For me. Now.
Finally, we got to chatting about money and what’s important. I
realized that, really, I’m in a position where my basic operating expenses are
covered. What’s hazy is budget for travel. This means that I don’t need to make
big bucks working all the hours God sends; I just need to earn enough to
travel. This completely shifts the burden. Yes—lots of money would be lovely
but all I need to bring in is what gets me to France and Korea and, really, wherever I
might find otters.
So, today I’m grateful for my colleague, whose black mold story
and questions clarified so much about my next career phase and left me relieved
and hopeful.
That’s big.
This came across my Facebook feed yesterday, so I’m sharing it with you. “Ein Keloheinu” is a Hebrew prayer. The title translates to “There is none like our God” (I’m told) and is typically chanted at the end of Shabbat morning services.
I do not know what the usual melody is for this, but last week Cantor Azi Schwartz at Park Avenue Synagogue recast it to Harry Belafonte’s “Banana Boat
Song”, in tribute to the iconic singer/actor/human rights activist who died last
month at age 96. This is absolute gold.
May his memory be a blessing.
Well, well, well—Captain Capslock liable (to the tune of $5M) for sexual abuse and defamation and George Santos charged with 13 felony counts of wire fraud, unlawful monetary transactions, money laundering, theft of public money and making false (financial) statements to Congress.
Here—have some photos of rhododendron flowers.
Sometimes in the morning at the office, the blinds at one window vibrate. I don’t know why—there doesn’t seem to be anything different about them from the windows/blinds on either side, but it makes a flickering pattern on the floor.
I decided to make cole slaw the other day, so I pulled out some red cabbage from the fridge.
I think it may
have been there a while.
Well, the multi-million pound coronation is at last in our rearview mirror. Charles—who’s actually been king since last September, although he’s chafed for the job for at least 30 years—has had what is essentially every bridezilla’s dream day. Nothing like parking your butt over the Stone of Destiny wrapped in dead stoat skins and dripping in bling being broadcast to an audience of billions to one-up the Kardashians. There were no leaky pens and, therefore, no visible tantrums. Master level success! Quiche and fizz all around.
Britons will be spending today’s holiday cleaning up all the
detritus—I rather imagine the streets of central London are like Colorado
Boulevard in Pasadena the afternoon of 1 January in terms of trash pickup.
Though maybe no ladders and sofas to be hauled away. The rest of the country—well,
maybe just England and parts of Ulster; I’m not really picturing Scotland or
Wales being much fussed with the thing—has to pull down the bunting and put out
the little Union Jacks for rubbish collection. Maybe dump the remains of the
coronation quiche down the garbage disposal, cuz that recipe was whack.
Anti-monarchy protesters—who were arrested by the Metropolitan
Police before they even really hit the streets, because Tories don’t hold with
no dissent in any form; not the done thing, don’t you know—may be making bail
and returning to the multiple jobs they probably need to hold down just to keep
up with raging inflation. Along with tens of thousands of their fellow subjects,
including staff of the National Health Service, public transport workers,
teachers and others who’ve been told that they need to accept the fact that
they’re just going to be poorer for the foreseeable future. Hey-ho.
The rest of the world just carries on. For example, in Texas, they marked the
occasion in the traditional Texas way with another mass shooting, nine dead
(including the gunman) at a suburban Dallas outlet mall. We all have our
customs.
Well, Bas Bleu, you ask—why write about the coronation on
Gratitude Monday when you don’t seem to care that much for it?
Well, dear reader, I’ll tell you: because I reckon we’ve got one
more week of analyzing this event every which way possible and then it will
well and truly disappear from the news cycle. That is something to be grateful
for.
Texas, though—damn.
