First Grown-up Job
My
first solo project required the writing of a lengthy new set of commands.
Unwieldy at first, I whittled it down to something workable in a couple of
weeks. I spent the next month doodling, pretending to be working as I butted my
head against the impenetrable wall of the existing code stubbornly refusing to
reveal its secrets. I had no clue where to place my program in the stream of
data.
My
first really grown-up chance at a career and I was bungling it. Shame ate at my
confidence. There were a vast number of
things for which I had no talent, but I’d never before been defeated by
something I put all my time and effort into accomplishing. Had I?
As
I said, I love languages. I studied French and Spanish in high school, the only
non-English courses offered. Junior year, I was ordered to choose one or the
other as this year both were scheduled for the same time period. Being the only
person affected, what right did I have to question or complain about the
school’s decision? I never brought it up.
Shy
in my teens and young adulthood, I proudly summoned the nerve to audition for
my college’s chorus. The tryout included singing a song from a piece of sheet
music without accompaniment. I could read music, but this was more akin to
singing by ear, something beyond my comfort zone and, to be honest, my skill
set.
I
knew the song and the director plunked out the starting note on an old piano. I
was a bit literal minded, still am for that matter. I assumed singing from
memory wasn’t the same thing as singing by ear and not what he wanted. I didn’t
ask, only said that I had no experience with this type of singing. The director
politely dismissed me. Hardly comparable to my trouble at work, I thought.
More next time.
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