July 9, 2007
Thanks to My Work ‘Parents,’ I Can Feel 17 Again
I’m in my mid-30s,
which is a great age to be at work. I’ve been in the work force for 14
years, and I’ve seen and done a lot. But there are still a ton of people
who’ve seen more, done more, know more and can serve as mentors to me.
It’s really my
work-time primetime.
Some of those mentors
are great. Their advice opens my eyes and brings me out of my comfort
zone. Others have great opportunities to serve as mentors, but blow them
every time with harsh criticism that, while I have a thick skin, does
nothing but sting and isn’t productive.
Then, there is my
favorite category of mentor. The parental type. My own parents don’t
live in the same state as I do, and so I don’t talk to them every day.
Just last week, as I was kind of missing them, one of my 50-something
coworkers said to me, in retort to a minor complaint I’d made, “Well,
that’s life in the Big City.”
My response? I cracked
up laughing! Through my giggles, I just had to tell him that I hadn’t
heard that phrase since I was 17 years old, most likely asking for, and
most certainly being denied, money from my Mom.
His comment made me
feel like a 17-year-old again, but in a good way. For one thing, I knew
he was right. At 17, I never could have admitted that. But now, it comes
more easily to say that someone else has called you out on a
less-than-legitimate request that things be 100 percent perfect at all
times.
Another mentor of mine
helped see me through a mistake that was made and had to be corrected
quickly. I was upset about the mistake, and told her so via e-mail. She
responded with, “Don’t stress over this. It’s not good for you.”
Wow. Had my Mom entered
her head? Once again, she was right, and once again, I missed my Mom,
who would – and still does – say that to me about what she considers the
“little things.” Like a less-than-stellar test grade back then, or my
first driver’s license exam. My Mom knew that I’d have plenty of chances
in life to make up for these little moments. And my mentor at work did,
too.
Of course, parents
truly do have superpowers. My Mom had this uncanny ability to spot
things that were – until the point she walked in the room – completely
hidden from my own eyesight. A matching sock. A schoolbook. A dog leash.
She’d walk into the room, and the item I’d just spent 30 minutes
searching for would somehow float to the top of the pile, into the
single most obvious place where I myself had looked no less than 10
times.
Mentors at work have
superpowers, too. I’ve been at the same company for just under two
years, and haven’t quite honed mine. My boss is a great example of this.
He knows exactly when to let something go, be it a nasty comment or a
statement of blame, versus exactly when to enter the fray. If he wasn’t
there to coach me on the same, I could easily see myself ignoring the
important in favor of running into all the burning homes, trying to save
those who’d already escaped.
And then there are the
times when you’re perpetually mad at your parents. Like the whole year I
was 16. I wanted freedom. My parents wanted me grounded. I was sick of
high school. They wanted a stellar student. I wanted a boyfriend. They
wanted me locked up in the attic, or if that wasn’t possible, at least
working somewhere where I’d never meet any boys, like sweeping up hair
at the salon.
Some mentors are like
that, too. You want to own the project and have a chance to prove
yourself. They can’t relinquish control. You want to skip pointless
meetings in favor of getting your work done, and in my case, getting
home to your young children. They want you to work 14-hour days, for no
good reason other than because they do.
No matter the mentor, I
do my best to learn a little something from each and every one of them.
After all, who wouldn’t want to feel 17 years old again, if only for a
few minutes each day?
© 2007 North Star Writers
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