Apologies to my tens of fans for the lapse in blogging; I started a new job on September 6th, and, well, it took me a week to get comfortable enough to snatch some office time to contribute to the Fifth Estate*.
For the past week I've been feeling like someone in the witness protection program. My routine is completely disassembled. Nobody knows me. I can't reveal myself -- my jokes, my faith, my history -- 'til I trust those around me with that information. Furtively, I peek around to see if its an opportune moment to check personal e-mail, or to cruise a website that's got zilch to do with my work for fear that people would learn more about me than I really want them to right now. Don't get me wrong -- I've got a titanium work ethic. Case in point: I had the ebola virus (or something equivalently virulent) last week, and I still came in to work because I thought it'd send a bad message to call out sick during my inaugural week.
I have no doubts that this job change will rock, and not just for the logistics of a shortened commute. The prime mover is my son, and being able to spend more time with him while he's smaller than me. Given that I'm about three apples high, I fully expect to exist in his shadow by the time he's ten.
A close second reason, though, is that my passions, shallow as they may be, are the life's blood of this company. Do you have any idea how amazing it is to work some place where your personal interests have professional value? I've never had that. I thought I did. I'd actually hoped I did, since the last place I worked was all kinds of noble in its endeavors. But I guess I need to embrace some facts about myself, like I'd rather read The Monitor in Entertainment Weekly than the crawl on CNN.
*I figure if journalists fancy their trade the 'Fourth Estate,' we humble common folk who self-publish our opinions can claim to be the Fifth Estate. Hey, anybody know what the First, Second, and Third Estates are?
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