29 days ago, I changed careers. It was the second time it's happened in my life, which seems a bit much for a 27-year-old. Three different careers in less than five years? Is my name Forrest Gump? (Don't answer that.) At this rate, I'll be a cab driver by the age of 35, a carnie by 50, and when it comes time to retire, I'll be an actor in commercials for the 2047 equivalent of a Snuggie. (Remember the old pajamas with the "back door"? Snuggie creators could be working on such technology.)
Though I'm horrible at both hunting and gathering, it's clear that I have exhibited nomadic tendencies thus far in my working life. Nevertheless, the early verdict on the most recent move is that it was certainly for the best. I'm getting more opportunities to work with words than my last stop, the job relates -however loosely - to football, and I speak with folks on the phone that are happy enough to yell things like "Go Illini!" at the end of a call.*
*Okay, this threw me for a loop earlier today, but you can bet that I'll be ready next time to say it back in response... or possibly to try to imitate the sound their mascot might make. There's nothing quite like an awkward hang up.
What has been interesting in this transition is that, as I learn new computer software, accounting methods, and more, things I once knew in a previous work life seem to be oozing out my ears. Perhaps The Writings favorite mind, Homer Simpson, put it best:
"How is education supposed to make me feel smarter? Besides, every time I
learn something new, it pushes some old stuff out of my brain.
Remember when I took that home winemaking course, and I forgot how to
drive?"
It's sad to say, but all that knowledge I stored up in attempt to at least be competent at planning conferences (which may or may not have been the case) has disappeared more quickly than the food at a banquet where the caterer didn't prepare food for the standard over-guarantee percentage. Is that 5-percent? See what I mean? It's gone.
It's now time for me to begin adjusting to a life where I'll soon no longer be able to tell you what it costs for an outside group to rent the Banquet Room at the university's Alumni Center ($1,000) or what kind of donuts are preferred by most conference attendees (yeast over cake, by a significant margin).
I'm even losing knowledge of the topics that were presented at such conferences. Need a quick rundown of the symptoms of equine laminitis? I can rattle it off now (lameness, symptoms common to illnesses, and, at times, refusal to stand and/or walk) but it's just a matter of time before that info gallops away. It's sad, but it's true.
With the understanding that my brain is excreting what was once essential knowledge, there's really only one thing I can do: pass along more Homer Simpson quotes.
"Oh, people can come up with statistics to prove anything; 14-percent of people know that."
Though I'm horrible at both hunting and gathering, it's clear that I have exhibited nomadic tendencies thus far in my working life. Nevertheless, the early verdict on the most recent move is that it was certainly for the best. I'm getting more opportunities to work with words than my last stop, the job relates -however loosely - to football, and I speak with folks on the phone that are happy enough to yell things like "Go Illini!" at the end of a call.*
*Okay, this threw me for a loop earlier today, but you can bet that I'll be ready next time to say it back in response... or possibly to try to imitate the sound their mascot might make. There's nothing quite like an awkward hang up.
What has been interesting in this transition is that, as I learn new computer software, accounting methods, and more, things I once knew in a previous work life seem to be oozing out my ears. Perhaps The Writings favorite mind, Homer Simpson, put it best:
"How is education supposed to make me feel smarter? Besides, every time I
learn something new, it pushes some old stuff out of my brain.
Remember when I took that home winemaking course, and I forgot how to
drive?"
It's sad to say, but all that knowledge I stored up in attempt to at least be competent at planning conferences (which may or may not have been the case) has disappeared more quickly than the food at a banquet where the caterer didn't prepare food for the standard over-guarantee percentage. Is that 5-percent? See what I mean? It's gone.
It's now time for me to begin adjusting to a life where I'll soon no longer be able to tell you what it costs for an outside group to rent the Banquet Room at the university's Alumni Center ($1,000) or what kind of donuts are preferred by most conference attendees (yeast over cake, by a significant margin).
I'm even losing knowledge of the topics that were presented at such conferences. Need a quick rundown of the symptoms of equine laminitis? I can rattle it off now (lameness, symptoms common to illnesses, and, at times, refusal to stand and/or walk) but it's just a matter of time before that info gallops away. It's sad, but it's true.
With the understanding that my brain is excreting what was once essential knowledge, there's really only one thing I can do: pass along more Homer Simpson quotes.
"Oh, people can come up with statistics to prove anything; 14-percent of people know that."
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