I vividly remember the one and only time that I was assigned to a striker position. (Once upon a time, yes, I played soccer, but only as a social thing. With a few of my friends, we hung around at the back, chased the ball occasionally, got a bit of a workout and got an extra team photo in the yearbook.) And one day when we were short of players, two of us were moved up to the front.
I recall not knowing what the hell I was doing. Floundering. Tapping the ball and running forward, because it was what I’d always seen them do. Faking it, in short.
Recently, I have been feeling this way a fair bit. I’ve started a new job, and the last couple of months in my old position were rather full-on. When you get tossed in the deep end… Run with it.
So far, it’s been rad, thanks for asking.
The biggest change for me has been the hours. No more evenings, weekends, public holidays. (It’s AMAZING. My schedule was increasingly a source of stress for me and T – resentment at never seeing him and various shifts doing away with all other aspirations of living a balanced life.) I’m not commuting into the CBD anymore. Oh, and I’m going to be paid monthly…
It also means a lot is riding on me. For the first time, I’m going to have a work phone. I’m going to have more riding on my little shoulders, rather than being part of an entire team. In short, it’s gonna be intensely challenging but also more rewarding.