New Beginnings

Recently, I reopened my search for a new position within my company, desperately trying to break out of production into the more popular and interesting field of editorial.  I want to work more closely with authors at the beginning of the publishing process.  I want to help them bring their ideas to paper, or the screen, and shape their manuscripts.  I want to be the one to sign the next bestselling author at my company.  That’s the dream.

Here’s the reality.  A lateral move to a different department working on different books and working with different people.  Starting not quite over, but I like to think of it as a new opportunity to reinvigorate a lackluster career, bring some enthusiasm back to my work, and create better working relationships with people. 

My whole career in publishing I’ve suffered (and I use the term lightly here) from being the only (or one of a small handful) African American.  As many other black professionals, I got used to being the only black face around (although I often can’t help but wonder where are all these black folks I see on the train in the morning going to because they are clearly not going to my company, but I digress).  But for some reason I’ve always felt slightly isolated and overlooked by my colleagues in my current company.  There are only four of us in my group: 

The Group Leader (the guy with the most seniority who makes the most work for himself)

The New Guy (he came from another group last November and still hasn’t gotten up to speed)

The Kiss-Up (the other woman who wants to take over without taking over)

Me

Everybody has buddied up but me.  It’s pretty obvious that the three non-minorities have a social relationship that excludes the minority (that would be me).  The two men in my group act like I don’t exist unless they specifically need something from me, and the woman is okay enough to chat with from time to time, but I don’t particularly trust her.  Now I’m not looking for best friends, or people to hang with after work, and since I go to the gym most afternoons, I’m not even really looking for lunch buddies.  But cordiality and politeness would be nice.  “Good morning” works.  How about not walking by me like I’m not even there when you pass me in the halls?  Even this kind of rudeness I could live with, but then my manager retired, and the group leader assumed more responsibility and “appointed” the Kiss-Up as his psuedo second-in-command.  They’ve created a fiefdom, and the two of them discuss policies and workflows and new ideas, before letting the masses know (that would be me and the New Guy).

Even that I might have been able to tolerate, then a small thing happened (it’s usually the small things) that pushed me over the edge, and I decided that I didn’t want to stay in this group that I’ve been in for 11 years a minute longer.  An editorial assistant who we work closely with was leaving the company.  I heard her tell the Group Leader and the Kiss-Up face-to-face.  I expected the same courtesy.  After all, we were currently working together on a project.  I’ve known her since she started.  She’s one of the few who’ll speak to me in the halls and bathroom.  Surely, she's coming over to my cube once she finishes with the Kiss-Up.  Or maybe not, as out of the corner of my eye I saw her walk off in the opposite direction of my cube.  I didn’t even get a I-don't-want-to-talk-to-you-face-to-face-so-I'm-emailing-you-instead email, which I would have accepted as being "in the loop."   That was the first time I acutely felt deliberately left out.  I mean, she made a conscious decision not to tell me.  Her good-bye party was set for 4 p.m. a week later.  I leave at 4.  I didn’t even poke my head in the conference room to say good-bye.  As far as I was concerned, since she didn’t tell me, I didn’t know she was leaving.

Fast-forward to today, and a job offer to move to a different, larger group, with three (count ‘em) African Americans.  I haven’t formally accepted the offer, though I will, I just wanted to take 24 hours to think about what I was doing.  Emotions, aside, and yes, they played a part in this:  I’ve been in the same group for 11 years.  If I can’t move into the editorial field I covet so greatly, at least this lateral move will give me the chance to move to a different floor, meet different people, work on different books, and do things a little differently.  You work anywhere for 11 years, you get complacent, you take short cuts, you drag your feet because you know you can. 

This couldn’t have come at a better time, near the end of the year.  I can start 2012 with a clean slate as far as my job is concerned.  I’m going to do things differently this time; I’m going to cultivate relationships I didn’t cultivate in my current position.  People are going to know my name and know me, and yes, people are going to speak to me in the halls, too.  Part of my isolation is my own fault, but it’s hard to cultivate relationships with people who don’t reciprocate.

And believe me, everybody in my group and the other groups I work with will know I’m leaving, but I promise I won’t gloat (at least not to anybody’s face).

Oh, No!

That’s Lexie’s favorite line these days. She’ll throw her sippy cup to the floor from her high chair, look down at it surprised, and say, quite convincingly, “Oh, no!” She’ll be teetering around the house on unsteady legs and unexpectedly fall, look around, and say “Oh, no!” It’s very amusing because she says it with just the right amount of emotion, and it’s the first phrase that she’s used in the right context. You make a mistake, you say “Oh, no,” and when you get older, you replace no with other, uh, more colorful words.

My little gooseberry took off the first week in October, a little over a week after she turned 15 months (resting my fears that she wouldn't walk until she was 2). And since then, her independence, determination, and, dare I say, feistiness have taken off right behind her. My Alexandra is a willful little girl. She’ll wave away her sippy cup or snack like a disgruntled customer in a restaurant, then not even 5 minutes later is pointing at said sippy cup or snack to be handed to her. She’s already learning the art of the temper tantrum, and I expect some good ones in the next year or two. I’ve learned to pick my battles with her, and I’m not above bribing her to get what I want. A Fresh Beat Band episode often keeps her quiet enough so I can catch my breath and even comb her hair. A handful of Cheerios will hold her attention while I slip on her sneakers or look through the mail. If she wants to play with an empty paper towel tube or an old pan or a box--fine, and maybe I can get the chicken seasoned.

I’m still navigating the parenthood highway. I--now I realize unwisely--thought that once she started sleeping through the night that I would go back to getting 7 to 8 hours of sleep. But I use those hours when she’s sleep to get stuff done: take care of the house, work on my proofreading jobs, take care of me, and maybe squeeze in a TV show that’s not on Nick Jr. And weekends are no longer for lounging in bed. I'm usually up at 6 to get the day started before Lexie gets hers started. The waking hours still revolve around her.

I have amazing help in the form of my husband and stepdaughter. Hubby and I take turns putting Lexie down for the night, and he’s the main one who gets her ready in the morning in--incredibly--less than 10 minutes. I’m just at 10 minutes, which is much better than the 30 it used to take me to get her ready. My stepdaughter entertains her when I need a few moments to myself, crucial in those first few minutes when we come home. Try taking your boots off with a 1-year-old clinging to your leg.

Being a mom doesn’t come easy or natural to me. Children were never on my list of must haves, but being a mother has taught me that life is bigger than me and your heart can expand to love another person unconditionally, and even I can learn to put another person’s needs before my own. But it can be frustrating at times. Lexie marches to her own beat and is strong-willed and stubborn--just like her mama--and it’s led to some difficult moments while I struggled to remember that’s she’s just a baby and not maliciously making my life miserable.

But I’m a sucker for the smile that greets me in the morning, the happy dance for Cheerios, and the little feet that run away from me almost as much as they run toward me.