23 miles. Each way.
Every working day, I am supposed to merrily get in my little car and drive 23 miles to work. I know people who drive farther, sacrifice more, with nary a complaint.
Well, now I am complaining. I’m done. It’s over. This gig has run it’s course.
I won’t go into the frustrations I have with my current job. It’s not the company’s fault. I suppose it is my own for missing the opportunities within the organization. But I guess it’s hard to go for the brass ring, if you’re not sure this is the ride you want to be on anymore.
I think that I have known that I was done for a long time, but it is very hard to admit it. I am an enemy alien, the only income-earner, 3500 miles from “home”. With a mortgage, two kids and a bunch of other things, sometimes you just make do, hoping things will get better.
They aren’t getting better.
Now I have to figure out what to do next. Until then, I will have to be the living dead in the office, going through the paces, feeling every second in this place become one more second that has slipped away from me.
What brought this malaise on?
On Friday, I had an interview with Microsoft. They were/are looking for bright people to help them grow their new ad service and analyze the reams of data that will be coming in.
And I bombed the interview.
I know I bombed; there’s no way around it.
And you know what: I’m not good enough for Microsoft. And I knew it before the call was over. I could hear the screening interviewer saying to herself: “How do I get this guy off the phone?”.
There it was, the chance to move back to the West Coast, to work with people who are trying to do cool things. Maybe not the coolest things, but cool things.
I miss the West Coast. I miss my in-laws. I miss being able to come and go when and where I please. I miss being able to work for the employer I want, when I want. I hate not being able to take on side contract jobs that interest me.
I miss the freedom of being at home.
23 miles gives you a lot of time to assess the future.
23 miles. Each way.