Onward and Upward

It feels like a long time coming, writing this.
After five years, half a decade (to make it sound more impressive), I’m bidding farewell to my school and am working in the private sector. The new gig is at an ad agency in the city, where the hip people are. I’m still doing IT support, but then again I’m going to go way beyond that. There are opportunities to wield computer systems in ways I’ve only speculated on before. I’m going to become the second in a two-man team to keep these systems running. It’s very cool, geeky stuff.

I found this gig through Craigslist of all places. To add to the utterly coincidental nature of it, it was using an utterly unprofessional cover letter. They hired me on for a month of contract work this summer. Following some very kind compliments, I was offered to stay on full-time. After much deliberation over the weekend, on Monday I accepted the offer and submitted my resignation to the school.

Still, so many years and misplaced ventures are being left behind. I will miss some of what I used to do, but oddly most will have nothing to do with my job requirements. The computer work was fine, but stagnant. Working with the kids, though, was great. Between the occasional snot-nosed punk were huge swaths of good-natured, budding minds that were as insane as they were delightful. And I learned so much from the good people who stood in front to show them their world.

I’m glad to be moving on. Very glad. There is a lot of ground to recover for them, and I wish them all the best. But I’m happy to move to a place where I am the one learning so much and getting inspired again. I’m surrounded by incredibly creative, savvy people and I can only image what I will glean from them. Hopefully they won’t mind me asking questions about their work.

It has been a long, bittersweet day. I’m not a very sentimental person, and I loathe goodbyes, so I’m glad the school was nearly empty as I carried my banker’s box out.

I’m not one to believe in signs either. But after loading my box into the back of my little station wagon, buckling up, and turning the ignition, the classical station came on. It was in the middle of playing Shostakovitch’s Festive Overture.

It felt appropriate.