On Fear and Confidence

I look at myself now and I wonder how is it I got where I am.

Yesterday I had an interview. This is what happens when you're looking for work. Not that I want to leave the consultancy I'm with,  but if this job came my way I would be a fool not to put my hand up for it. Eight months of work in my area - training and doco.

Sitting in the waiting room of an anonymous office in Southbank, suited and booted, face paint applied in an understated matter, lipstick blotted, I waited for the interviewer.The only consolation I could have made with my dress was a pair of stockings, but as it was 35 degrees celcius in the shade, sod stockings. I don't wear stockings at the best of times unless I REALLY have to - and it's only when it's under 25 degrees.

 I wasn't delayed badly, but I did have to wait for a few minutes. It happens. People run late around lunchtime.

The door opened and in walks my manager from seven years ago - a person instrumental in getting me where I am today. She was the first manager who I worked under in a technology role. We've been bumping into each other in the street every so often for years.

"I heard you were coming in. Your names been bandied around here for the last few days." she said.

Glumph. I'd only passed over my CV on Friday around two. I had the interview lined up by four.

We has a brief catch up - her son, the one we used to watch through binoculars from the 35th floor as he played at his day care centre on Collins Street is about to start high school. She asked about my writing and if I kept in contact with a few old colleagues. She wished me luck and bid me farewell.

The interviews went really well. All three panelists (who I saw one at a time) made positive comments and made reference to the fact my name came up via a couple of people. Never a bad thing at all. I had to wing a few questions on some technical stuff - to which I gave my best standby answer - I pick things up quickly, and that's what google is for - which is true. If you don't know, ask google. If google doesn't know, ask the network, which is expanding and filled with all sorts of good advice.

Sitting, answering the questions that were fired with me, it finally struck me - I know what the hell I'm doing. even if I don't know what I'm doing, I have the confidence to muddle through and get on with things.

We'll see about the job - I'd like it if I can get it.

For somebody who used to have no self-worth or self-esteem, this is huge.

I like it.

I like it a lot.

Had a similar feeling coming out of a meeting with a resource manager here at Bastard Bank. Only good things to say, would happily keep me on if and when the roles comes up - send my CV across and watch him work some magic. All good.

Last evening, sitting in my lounge room, the opposite occured.

Jonella's mountain bike was finally assembled. I had to get a bit from the bike shop to get it to work properly. Discovered that hot blokes hang out at the bike shop. Also discovered that the ditzy female routine works well on the guys at the bike shop.

"Hello, I need a bit. Well, I need a part. Look, I need one of these things." I said as I pulled a zip lock bag out of my handbag this levery, metal bit thing (allegedly called  a skewer, but I think a whatchamacallit suits it better).
"I can help with that."
"Cool - but is it a bit or a part?" I asked using my best cow eyes.
"Its a bit that goes with a part," cute bike dude replied.

Two minutes later, $20 poorer I had a new thingy for the bike in my handbag and I trotted home.

An hour later, the bike was in the middle of the lounge room, dohickey in place and the bike in one piece.

And all I have to do now summon up the courage to take the wretched thing downstairs and go for a ride.

I'm petrified.

I can tackle corporate Australia. I can run half marathons. I can dispose of hunstman spiders with the aid of a can of bug spray and a hoover.

But I'd dead shit scared to hop on a bike. What a wuss I am.

Wish me luck.
Pand