If my entrance into life is any indication of my personality, it'd be that I'm impatient and I'm in a hurry to get wherever I want to be, regardless readiness or maturity. And you know what? That's absolutely and completely right. I was born two whole months before my mother's due date, possibly because I couldn't wait to face the world outside my mother's uterus.
I don't remember much about that time, but I could imagine I felt bitter disappointment at the mess I was once so eager to embrace. A medium-rare of a baby, I spent a month tubed up in an incubator. If baby pictures are any indication, I looked like a wrinkly rat with patches of hair (a sight only my parents could love; then again, I question this).
There I was, out in the world, tubed up to a machine because I couldn't breathe on my own. Metaphorically, things did not get better. Thankfully, I did not need tubing to breathe for the rest of my life.
I admit that one of my biggest shortcomings is impatience. I want things to happen, and I want them to happen yesterday. When I decide to go after something, I dive into the metaphorical waters with a quick prayer, and once I'm in I start wondering if I can even swim at all.
I don't just want to do any kind of swimming, mind you, I want to be the Michael Phelps/Ryan Lochte type swimmer and just excel at everything I do. Instantly.
Sometimes I get tired of swimming because I can't see the finish line, the shore, or any milestone that lets me know how far I've gotten or how close I am to getting what I want. That's exactly where I am at my current job at the moment. I've been with the company for about a year, am vastly overqualified with my master's degree, and I am struggling to pay the bills on a constant basis (so much so, that I have a second job teaching at the local university).
Though I try to be optimistic every day and go in with a fresh attitude, I am faced with people above me who scoff at me because of my youth and gender. Misogyny is alive and well in this small city of the Southwest.
What's even more impressive than the regressive male attitude at my job is the particular male ability of whining and complaining their way into having people feel sorry for them. I hear, "Oh, poor [insert name of male idiot here], he's so swamped. His job is so tough." I never seem to hear that about a female colleague, no matter how much larger her workload is.
When you combine up this misogynistic attitude, a blatant disregard for innovation (in a technological company, no less), and a distrust for the abilities I went to graduate school to acquire, you get a recipe for impatience. I feel ready to burst out of the metaphorical womb.
However, if there's something that life has taught me, it's crippling self-doubt. What if what I am so desperate to attain is not that great? What if I need help? What if I'm not ready, and it's a repeat of my birth?
Sometimes, the worst enemy is the one in your head.
I'll continue to exercise a semblance of patience for now, but the first chance I get to leap, I'll jump and ask questions later.
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