Just a few short days ago, I was boogie boarding off the Southern California coast with my son, getting pounded by the surging surf.
Now I’m back here, awash in a sea of cubicles.
It never seems to matter how long, how good, how fun, or how restful a vacation is–the job slips back on like a comfortable pair of slippers.
Too comfortable, perhaps. It’s like I never left: I slip right back into the mold, disappear into my role(s). The workplace is chafingly restraining with regards to self-expression.
The highlight of my week? Getting to send my boss off to a new position with a brief humorous, heartfelt speech.
Maybe my age is showing, maybe I’m just less tolerant of the BS now? Once things for sure, as much as I hate to admit it (and thanks for this, Jon Acuff): there’s only one me.
What I mean is, as much as I’d wish to the contrary, the distinction between work-me and home-me is a false one–existing only in my head. And that’s a hard pill to swallow. Otherwise, I’m just playing a role, engaging in hypocrisy.
How about you? Do you have weeks like this?