It’s been one year and nine months since I changed my phone number. And I know you still get messages and phone calls from people expecting to find me at the other end. I know this, because you’ve asked them–if they find me–to tell me that there are a lot of people looking for me at that number, which now belongs to you.
It just happened last week. I was at a conference and someone with your number, which used to be my number, texted you to let you know that I should meet them on the 22nd floor instead of the hotel lobby. You probably didn’t respond. You probably already knew it was for me.
It’s 3 o’clock on a Sunday and my throat hurts. I swallow once and everything is fine. Last night I was at FedEx Field watching Notre Dame scrape by with a win against Navy, and though it was a frustrating, curse-worthy game, I didn’t do much yelling. I swallow again. It doesn’t hurt to swallow but the glands are sore and I know in the back of my throat it’s coming.
I look outside my window. The leaves, all red, yellow and brown, are shaking in the branches and peeling off in a spiral down toward the ground as the wind speeds up fall. It is the start of November and an unseasonably warm September and October delayed the color changing of the trees, but now the wind is threatening to make their branches bare. Instead of cursing my beloved football team I curse the secretive cult of farmers who decided on their calendar that we would have another wrathful winter. They summoned this wind, I tell myself. I remember my throat hurting two days ago when I was out running in the wind.
I let my mouse hover over a new browser tab, tempted to Google home remedies because there is nothing I dislike more than gargling with warm salt water (my mom will vouch for this). But I am certain I will get distracted by articles explaining why it is or is not possible that I have Ebola and decide against making an internet query.
Instead I Google a few names of people whose current jobs I find interesting. I do this because I am curious how they got there. What did they do to prepare themselves for the job they have now? I try to answer this question by looking at their LinkedIn profiles and, for the famous, Wikipedia pages. I want to answer this question to try to make sense of my own path.
And the funny thing about this exercise is that there is no template. Between my Google stalking hobby, interviewing people for articles and networking with people at conferences, I have learned that the possibilities are nearly infinite for how people get from point A to point B in their careers.
I recently shared a bit of job advice with a friend who is getting ready to graduate from college. I’ve just barely begun my own life in the workforce, but I told her not to put too much pressure on her decision about where to begin her career. At our age–and as an entry level employee–it is so easy to make a switch once you know what works for you, I told her. But also it is clear to me that the model of “I sign my acceptance of a position at Company A before graduating college, I work my way up for the next four decades to an executive-level position, by which point I retire with a healthy 401K” is not only not true for the current graduating classes–it is not true for 95 percent of the working professionals I’ve encountered (in person and online).
My friend’s name is Nicole Sganga, and she wrote a fantastic piece for Notre Dame Magazine about her trip to Myanmar which you should go read after you finish up here. In it, she asks the question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” to girls who have never been taught to think about their personal futures. They couldn’t answer. But that problem in their society is worse than it seems on the surface. We ask that question of children expecting a simple answer: lawyer, doctor, teacher. Just take a look at your friends’ LinkedIn profiles and you’ll see how truly insufficient the question is, when you see the infinite possibilities of things that we can be.
Your first job is just that, the beginning of your career, the start of YOU. There will be many chances to achieve your dreams, evolve them a bit, and then achieve the new ones. You may take a risk and do something you thought might be cool that will lead you to something else you may never have even known existed. (I seriously doubt any kid said “I want to be a weather cynic for the Farmer’s Almanac” but those jobs do exist.)
For the creative types–the people like me and my friends in ND’s Film, Television and Theatre program whose success hinges on putting their work out for the public to consume and toss aside–having a career takes time and emotional stamina. You have to constantly be putting your work out there and getting feedback so that you can learn and grow, and so that your work can find an audience and take off. That’s not an easy order to fill. When I graduated, I said I didn’t want to spend my life as an actor because I didn’t want to constantly be putting myself out there and… well, my life outside acting isn’t too different.
I can’t read from a LinkedIn profile what made things click along the way for people. But I like to think that varying positions and companies that pepper the modern resume means it doesn’t matter so much what you do, it matters who you’re doing it with. Your colleagues, the people who challenge you, shape your craft, influence who you are and in turn develop and strengthen your art, those are the people who matter most.
Life is too short to not develop connections with people. And that’s what I learned from stalking on LinkedIn.
The people who flock to marketing and public relations careers have always had a place at the table in my life. When my day job was in journalism, they were the uninvited guests who I only shared a dish with when they had something I wanted too. Now that my day job is in video production, I find that I am regularly eating the food they put on the table, hoping the dessert I brought is enough to secure my place for tomorrow night too.
I confronted this power shift in the span of a few short weeks at the new job. I was surrounded by first a sea of sly advertising professionals and then a herd of hungry communications specialists. I posed as one of them in the middle of networking happy hours at industry conferences, boasting of my company’s work in visual storytelling as though I was a seasoned producer. I added more people on LinkedIn in those three weeks than I did in my whole existence on the social network.
How little I knew–and know–about our shared worlds. If you’re doing this for the right reasons, you’re in journalism, film, television, advertising, marketing and PR to tell a story that taps into human emotions and inspires action. Whether that story is told on behalf of a company or the country depends on what step of the process you execute. I thought we were all at the same dinner table. Turns out we’re all just cooks in the kitchen.
We were killing time in Milwaukee, Wisconsin waiting for my sister’s plane to arrive, so my parents decided they wanted to take me on a tour of the Miller Brewery. We get there by about 3:15, and when we ask the woman behind the counter when the next tour departs, her eyes fall.
“Our last tour was at 3,” she says. “I’m so sorry!”
My dad mutters something angrily to my mom about not checking what time the place closed and we turn around and head back to the car. She searches on her phone to find another brewery and reads a few out loud, but sees they’ve also already closed.
“Oh here’s one that looks like it’s still open,” she says, “It’s not too far from here. It’s called ‘Brenner.’”
We park in front of a storefront that looks more like a converted warehouse and head inside to a spacious bar with high ceilings and good natural light. There are a few people enjoying drinks at the bar and I notice that next door is a small modern art gallery. I walk around looking at the art on the walls of the brewery while my parents inquire about tours.
“Let me just finish up here and I can take you in back,” says the tall man with the large belly behind the counter.
I wander into the art gallery while my parents play a game of corn hole that’s set up next to the bar. After a bit my mom comes to get me for the tour. We circle around the man, who introduces himself as Mike Brenner, the owner and founder of the brewery.
“Before we go on the tour,” Mike says, “I wanted to tell you a little about how this brewery came to be.”
Mike tells us that our visit marked the third official day that the brewery was open. Six years ago, when he was working four jobs in the arts and sleeping on a blow-up mattress, he realized he had to make a change. So he went back to school, and had recently earned his Executive MBA degree and his Master Brewer certificate. But he didn’t want his brewery to be just another beer house in the great beer drinking state of Wisconsin. He wanted to incorporate his passion for the arts into the concept.
He pointed to the walls of the brewery. “Each of these four artists showcased on the walls have designed a product label for our beers,” he tells us. “And above us are 20 artist studios. The artists-in-residence also work shifts as our bartenders.”
Brenner Brewing Co. is working on developing more partnerships with the arts community in Milwaukee, hoping to cater at performances or bring live performances to the brewery to promote the arts and beer.
After Mike showed us around the back my parents sat down to try a flight. I asked the girl behind the counter, Hayley, if she was one of the artists in residence.
“Yeah! I do performance art. It always has a scientific aspect to it.” Hayley Eichenbaum shrugged. “My parents don’t really get it.”
Maybe, I thought. But maybe more people will get it if this brewery can start to bring the beer world and the art world together.
It’s a cool concept, and I hope it does well. If you’re ever in Milwaukee you should check it out, and let me know how it’s doing. Also my parents would love another growler of their bacon brew.
There are many facts of life and one of them is that people change jobs.
There are a few reasons that people change jobs–they move, they get laid off, they get a better job–but there’s one constant to the act of job changing, and that is that people are always sad to leave.
I never watched the final season of “The Office” when it aired but I suppose that’s just as well because over the last two weeks it has been my dinner table companion. If you haven’t seen the final season of “The Office” I won’t spoil too much for you. But I will say that in wrapping up the show that final season, every reason you would ever leave an office happens: some move, others get laid off and still others get a better job. And there’s crying into cake, goodbye dance parties, promises to stay in touch…the usual components that come along with the act of leaving.
We all know that sometimes it is our friends leaving and sometimes it is us who will leave, but when it comes right down to it, it’s part of our shared human experience that transitions will happen.
So why–when we know this is coming be it tomorrow or next month or next year–why do we struggle to balance the sadness of leaving something behind with the excitement of starting something new?
I’m leaving National Journal. My first real job out of college, where I succeeded and stumbled, figuring out who I was and what I was capable of. I started out on the health care beat, where after a month and a half on the job, HealthCare.gov debuted and crashed and I spent the rest of the fall covering what would become the 2013 AP News Story of the Year.
From there I transitioned to covering Congress, studying the faces of lawmakers on the long metro commute to Capitol Hill only to realize that they’re all much older now than when their directory photos were taken. I quickly took to the foreign policy beat, writing about the one issue that will keep on going even when the political parties can’t agree on how deal with it. And it’s been a busy summer too; between the advances of ISIS in Iraq, Russia’s encroachment (invasion?) of Ukraine and the spread of the Ebola virus in West Africa, each story that it feels like I was there for from the start will keep on going until it morphs into the next chapter.
It’s been a good run. I walk away having learned who’s the friendliest face in the Senate, why the U.S. can’t keep its boots off the ground in the Middle East, and how to challenge charges from my health insurance company. I’ll miss my friends, my colleagues, my editors, and Rosita, the woman makes sure there’s coffee waiting for our tired souls as we start each day. I won’t miss the never-ending PR emails or the vitriolic commenters.
I’m headed to Green Buzz Agency. My second real job and I can’t keep my face from lighting up when people ask me about it. I’m going to be the new Assistant Producer, working on corporate client videos and expanding our film work into original documentaries. I’ll be doing everything from researching to interviewing to script writing to working on set to editing, but I’ll also be writing the blog, public speaking, managing the intern program and planning events. It’s a start-up, so I get to wear a lot of hats, and with such a small team, my input will really shape the direction and the success of our work. And it’s going to be a lot of work. But multimedia storytelling is where my heart has always been, and I’m so thrilled about the chance to build my creative visual skills. I’ll still be in the D.C. area, so despite the fact that I’m leaving, it’s not really goodbye.
It still feels like it though. It’s a strange limbo, knowing you are closing the door, knowing what you’re saying goodbye to, but not having the familiar comfort of knowing what comes next.
In the final season of “The Office,” people who had left come back. They weren’t gone forever, they were just doing something else, having their own adjacent narrative.
A new adventure.
And you can see it in their eyes. They’re really happy.