who you are, not what you do
I wear high heels to work most days. I answer to a man who has been doing what I do for probably 20 years and sits behind a big desk and in front of a huge window with a view. I write 3 roundup stories a week, and at least one large one as well about important national issues. I have a a badge to get into my building, onto the floor I work on, and into the news room. I am at the office 8-9 hours a day. I do every bit of my work on a Mac laptop. I have a professional email address associated with my job.
This is what I do. These are the logistics. What any average, detached onlooker glancing into my life probably wouldn't notice is who I really am, the true details of my everyday, supposedly grown-up life. What they wouldn't know is that:
The second I sit down at my desk, I kick off my heels and pull on fuzzy socks hidden underneath. The man I answer to is not only my boss, he is a friend. He is kind and helpful and openminded, and usually doesn't sit in his office. Also, his view isn't that great, and he doesn't have any complaints. The only reason I get so many stories done is that it's ALL I HAVE TO DO. And they are nationally important because it's a requirement. My badge only gets me into where it needs to. Also, it states in large print on the front INTERN, LIMITED ACCESS. I may be in the office that long, but I'm not always working. I take a lunch break and watch at least one episode of Good Mythical Morning with Rhett and Link every day, to waste some time. I still listen to Katy Perry and One Direction and U2, even if I am working on a computer. And the only reason I have a Mac (an outdated one, at that) is because everyone is provided with one. My professional email address is a privilege offered while I work here.
What I do is not what I am. I am not a machine. I am not a robot-reporter who writes articles and loves it and that is all. I am a college student. I am an Aggie who misses Logan so much. I am a person who likes to read stupid, gossipy articles about celebrity marriages. I am a girl who tells people she is a good driver, but really isn't. I am a writer, in the sense that things make more sense to write down. I am a girl who sometimes sucks at actually saying what she means, who almost doesn't know to function if almost everything isn't procrastinated, who would rather eat a microwave dinner than homemade spaghetti. I am an intern who really struggles some days to walk into the office, looking professionally, to sit and work the entire day away, then go home to just play some piano and watch tv and write the things I actually want to put into paper. I am someone who would rather drop this life and pack as much as would fit in my old Lumina and speed up to Cache Valley as quickly as the law allowed.
That's what I am. But...I suppose what I do is a part of who I am. At least I'm trying to accept that it is.
This is what I do. These are the logistics. What any average, detached onlooker glancing into my life probably wouldn't notice is who I really am, the true details of my everyday, supposedly grown-up life. What they wouldn't know is that:
The second I sit down at my desk, I kick off my heels and pull on fuzzy socks hidden underneath. The man I answer to is not only my boss, he is a friend. He is kind and helpful and openminded, and usually doesn't sit in his office. Also, his view isn't that great, and he doesn't have any complaints. The only reason I get so many stories done is that it's ALL I HAVE TO DO. And they are nationally important because it's a requirement. My badge only gets me into where it needs to. Also, it states in large print on the front INTERN, LIMITED ACCESS. I may be in the office that long, but I'm not always working. I take a lunch break and watch at least one episode of Good Mythical Morning with Rhett and Link every day, to waste some time. I still listen to Katy Perry and One Direction and U2, even if I am working on a computer. And the only reason I have a Mac (an outdated one, at that) is because everyone is provided with one. My professional email address is a privilege offered while I work here.
What I do is not what I am. I am not a machine. I am not a robot-reporter who writes articles and loves it and that is all. I am a college student. I am an Aggie who misses Logan so much. I am a person who likes to read stupid, gossipy articles about celebrity marriages. I am a girl who tells people she is a good driver, but really isn't. I am a writer, in the sense that things make more sense to write down. I am a girl who sometimes sucks at actually saying what she means, who almost doesn't know to function if almost everything isn't procrastinated, who would rather eat a microwave dinner than homemade spaghetti. I am an intern who really struggles some days to walk into the office, looking professionally, to sit and work the entire day away, then go home to just play some piano and watch tv and write the things I actually want to put into paper. I am someone who would rather drop this life and pack as much as would fit in my old Lumina and speed up to Cache Valley as quickly as the law allowed.
That's what I am. But...I suppose what I do is a part of who I am. At least I'm trying to accept that it is.
Comments
Post a Comment