The Art of Letting Go

On TV quiz shows, the host, by way of introduction, generally asks the participant “And what do you do?”  They’re usually given a response that summarises the guest’s entire working career into a few words (“I’m a librarian”, “IT Manager” “Tower crane driver”, etc).  Ignoring the fact that the response (the job title) doesn’t always adequately describe their job, I dislike the fact that we should be so lazily defined by our (in/)ability to generate an income.

What do I do?  I feed, protect and entertain my 19 month old daughter; I compose and play music where said 19 month old permits; I gamble on sports events where said 19 month old permits sufficient research time; I cook; I socialise; I build bits of robots.

All this is relevant as I’m currently on the hunt for a new job, and so need to ensure my CV and my Linked In profile accurately capture what I “do”.

This is a difficult task. Trying to summarise 20 odd years of working into two pages of A4 whilst using language that subtly hints at what I want to do next, once I’ve worked that out.

It’s a step into the unknown – resigning without another job to go to.  And that’s the art of letting go.  Now that I have let go of my current role (nearly anyway- I’m currently working a three-month notice period), I can focus on next rather than now; I can focus on what I need to do rather than what somebody else wants me to do.

So when Ant or Dec eventually meet me to ask that question, I shall simply say “In Hamlet, Polonius describes brevity as the soul of wit.  Ironically, your question, so inane in its briefness, and semi-rhetorical in its structure – since my answer will have no bearing on what follows – is sufficiently anachronistic as to stem from that age.”

I won’t.

I’ll say “I.T.”

 

There’s No Need To Top Up

In hindsight, agreeing to commute for a total of 4 hours every day wasn’t the best decision I’ve ever made. Not so much the journey itself – a drive, 3 trains and a 15 minute walk – more the resentment of losing sleep and losing most of my evenings for the past 8 months.

So I’ve done the sensible thing and found a new job 45 minutes closer to home. A commute that’ll still feature a drive and a 15 minute walk but just the one train. No more London Underground. No more DLR. No more being bowled over by umbrella wielding commuters intent on obeying a Pavlovian-type sprint response to the doors-closing beeping sound, despite the next train being (literally in peak times) a minute away. No more calculations to determine the most optimum route through the bowels of London (the Jubilee to Victoria Line interchange saves me about 30 seconds over the DLR to Northern Line one. What should I do with those 30 seconds?).

45 minutes doesn’t sound much. But it’s an hour and a half per day. Effectively I’ll get a full working day back by the end of the week.

As of this Monday morning, I have one week to go. The underground countdown starts today.

So if you’re thinking of taking on a 2-hour-each-way commute, don’t do it. Life’s far too short and you’ll just resort to writing endless nonsense in a blog that starts its life as a well-meaning, optimstic ode to the weird world of commuting but gradually becomes a dirge of drivel.