Promotion

I didn't want this new job. 

I love my job, have loved it for four years, not without reservations but it felt like the best application of my talents, a constant challenge, an unceasing exploration of things that interested me and, sure, things that didn't. I took on more than the bare job description entailed and learned so much and grew. 

Then my boss quit and I didn't want her job. The editors I have worked for often struggled as the public's whipping boy. It's a thankless job made more so by the constant erosion of the industry, the steady elimination of support structures and staff and resources.  

But I did the job for a month and then two months and then ten weeks. It began to make sense for me to keep doing it, and people I trust encouraged me to explore the possibility. There are parts of the job I'm bad at and scared of, but there are parts I've learned from my more capable predecessors, and parts that I am better at than they were.  

It took the corporate office so long to offer me the job after I said I was interested. I considered quitting because I knew that even when I was promoted I still had to keep doing it alone until we got approved to hire a second writer. 

Finally last Friday I received the job offer. I sat on it for awhile, weighing it, and then let all the negative thoughts go and focused on the good stuff, which is really good: I have been promoted to editor. I have received a raise with back-pay. Our team is poised for excellence. I am scared, but I have the relevant experience, an eye for detail, and a nearly inextinguishable enthusiasm for thorny local government issues and articles about nonprofits and quirky people and stories that make parents proud. 

This is my process and Cy always teases me about it.

Five years ago who could have guessed this would be my life. Certainly not me.