The Mark of Pollyanna

One week down. I'm still in the honeymoon phase. When I leave the office at dusk and see the white Christmas lights wrapped around the leave-less trees and the suits racing to beat the light, the neon signs for chain stores, the cars inching forward from parking garages, the buses grinding to a halt, the birds chirping impossibly loud above, the construction workers hauling sheets of glass and steel on cables so high I can't see the top, the click clack of slick heeled shoes, peeking into bar windows and salons, avoiding metal grates and wrapping my coat tight... when I leave the office and see these things I am so glad that I'm there and nowhere else. It's not like anything. It feels like I'm caught in a greater, larger, overarching purpose, and within this space there is infinite possibility.

And then I get on the bus to go home, and see those same lights from across the bay. And I know what it's like to walk on those streets and look up. I know that perspective. I can zoom in or out at will. I've got that power.

On Friday, I walked the six blocks to Jer's office and we went for drinks with his co-worker. Drinks and garlic fries and hummus in a dark booth with lots of deep red lighting, and music that made me want to bounce. It's such a luxury to walk to happy hour.

Yes, there's a lot to learn. Yes, there's a lot of catching up to do. But I've got a good feeling. There are the usual political landmines to pick through and office alliances to navigate, but it seems manageable. It requires only a tiny diagram to keep it straight.

Now to get back into writing again and I'll be where I want to be.