Actually, if I had my 'druthers, I would read and sleep all day.
So, my job. Is fabulous. Is amazing. Is getting really busy.
My position as Director of Events & Marketing belongs to the Development Team, whose mission, in the simplest terms, is to foster community relationships and so bring in resources (funding, volunteers) to the Center to make it financially and manpoweredly possible for us to help break the cycle of homelessness. I, obviously, manage fundraising events and tell the world about the Center and what we do here. Other members of the Development Team manage the volunteer system, write grants, manage the donations that we receive, and forge/maintain important connections around the community (and that's just a basic start).
At the last Thursday weekly Development Meeting, my coworker Adam (who, I've decided, is truly awesome) announced that he had started coming to work at 7 a.m. This is an hour and a half before most everyone else comes in, and it allows him to get done what he needs to get done before other people come to him with additional requests, so that when they do, he has his schedule freed up enough to do it and not feel overwhelmed by the day.
I thought this was a brilliant idea. Long, long ago I was a morning person. In high school I got up at 4:45 every morning (this was mostly due to the need of four people to use one bathroom). I used to love getting up before the sun rose, so that when it came up, I was ready to greet the new day. Then I went to college and developed this thing called a social life, which required rigorous post-midnight hours, and I stopped getting up in the morning whenever possible. Ever since, I have been trying to free my inner morning person, but with no impetus, it didn't happen.
But this coming in to work at seven was the spark I needed. First, I get to pretty much call my own hours. Which means that I am absolutely free to work 7-4. And four is a great time to leave. There are still a few hours of daylight left, you can do things like grocery shop, work out, and cook dinner and still be able to eat by six o'clock, not eight.
And you can get a handle on the day without the day having a handle on you. Most days I actually have to discipline myself to leave on time; it could easily become a twelve-hour day and I still wouldn't accomplish everything. So when you come in at nine with a list in mind of must-dos, and you already have three messages on your voicemail and ten e-mails asking you to do things, you feel a little violated by the day. You lose a sense of power. By coming in when normal people are waking up, you can neatly avoid all of that, so that when your phone rings and your inbox blinks, you're ready to up and at 'em.
So I started coming in at seven too. I supplied my office with coffee, an electric kettle, and a French press, the product of which I share liberally with Adam and his roommate and fellow co-worker Andrew, who also comes in early on occasion. (We are trying to market ourselves as the young, the driven, and the dedicated, and not the young who have no life outside work.) There's something about coming in while it's dark, turning on my computer, making coffee, diving into work, and having a few minutes to chat with people who appreciate my coffee that makes me bounce out of bed a little faster, and makes me a little more chipper, when the alarm goes off.
Sad, isn't it? One of the highlights of my day is making coffee for two twenty-something men (who both have girlfriends). On the other hand, it's casual, it's relaxed, it's friendly, and it's something to look forward to. My cat, darling as he is, can't appreciate my coffee. And I have, lately, been very much missing a people connection.
This is a fantastic place to work, and being dedicated to a common humanitarian mission, I think, draws us all together in ways other office jobs wouldn't. So in some respects, the people here are like family.
Plus we're here all the time. Driven and dedicated as we might be, we still don't really have lives. But don't tell anyone that.
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