Where a famous crooner and my job history meet.

You may know a song Frank Sinatra made famous called “That’s Life”?  A line from the lyrics reminds me of my job history. Not  that “’I’ve been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king” as the song says, and my list doesn’t have the snappy “p” repetition, but it’s still quite the list. So…

I’ve been a cashier, playground supervisor, worked in historic preservation, teacher, employment counselor, assistant manager of a dress shop, administrative assistant, sales assistant, property manager, bookkeeper, print salesman, children’s camp director, medical receptionist, real estate agent, freelance copywriter, artist, advertising director, information specialist, grocery store manager, and art gallery owner.

And how do I describe myself? The same way I all ways have. A writer who makes art and an artist who writes. In many ways I have been fortunate –  to find employment, the freedom to change fields, learn an amazing number of things and skills and use the experience in each position to enhance the next one. My college studies were divided between social work and elementary education, so it should be no surprise that teaching and customer service jobs were favorites and or that position requiring sales was not a good match.

What’s changed over the years is that I no longer pride myself on being a multi-tasker. I once bragged about my ability to do several things at once and function well in a fast-paced environment. Today, I confess, I no longer need to be the smartest person in the room. I am learning the use of 3 words that are permitted when I am asked for a solution before I have one. I can simply and honestly say I don’t know. I recently learned that to be accurate – neurologically speaking – there is no such thing as multi-tasking. The human brain is just not wired that way. Gasp! It is an illusion. So now what? I want to do the opposite of speeding along from one task to another as if it were a race. My new goals are learn to focus and be present and go s-l-o-w. I have come full circle and yes, that’s life.

Which reminds me of the excuse we had to show to our teachers if we had been absent. Often, my father would be the one to write it much to the frustration of me and my siblings. Instead of lurid descriptions of blood or vomiting or whatever malady we were ill with, he would simply write a generic excuse. We were certain no teacher would believe such a brief and non-specific ticket to go back to class. Today I write that excuse for myself and use his exact wording.

“Please excuse Jeri’s absence as she was unable to attend.”