It was while I sat there -unemployed- drafting my future plans, and penciling vacation time, that I was transported back to the beginning. The very beginning- before that July morning in the office- before I'd seriously began trying to make myself the sort of professional woman I could live with -before I’d rejoined the company in 2007.

I'd entered the field with much trepidation in the early 2000s. I was a University student on a break. I think I half-prayed during and after the job interview that I would not get the job. This is probably the first time I’ve admitted this. There I was, not yet twenty years old- still in the process of putting structure to my philosophies and conscience.   Yet, I was supposed to be involved in this process of shaping a product for national (regional and international) consumption. The introductory video on the Stanford Group of Companies, which I had to endure, in no way eased my trepidation.

I don’t remember much of the video, except... perhaps... images of an eagle soaring, images of Stanford buildings in other parts of the world and snippets of a rag to riches story explaining the rise of  Mr. R. Allen Stanford. Of course, when the man was arrested and charged in 2009 with running a ponzi scheme, I would hear tales that his take on his rag to riches story was all fiction and I would be made to question what anyone really knew about the man or anything. But at the time of watching the video, I had but one question: WHAT WAS I GETTING MYSELF INTO WITH THIS REPORTER GIG?

Then I was in and it wasn’t entirely bad.  My eyes were being opened to new things and people.  I was learning so much about the good and bad in people and in myself.  Now make no mistake- I was a horrible reporter. By my standards anyway. And, my environment was more than happy to help me grow even more horribly.

I was wonderfully trapped- wanting to be creative or enterprising without appearing to be trying to trump anyone. I wanted to ask so many questions of so many people, but didn’t want to seem too forward.    I wanted to be one of those people who lived happily inside and outside those forty and more hours per week.  My thoughts were always with those people who were not just happy with what they did for a living, but... actually came ALIVE for it!

I wanted to write myself into each story. Forget about the “objectivity” of news. I wanted to hold a story, give it lots of love, watch it blossom and keep my eyes on it forever.  “Follow-ups” was a phrase I came to dote on.  But it was not to be. Deadlines and people so used to the normal run of things stood in my way.   I stood in my way.  It was a most evil duo; I was untrained and uncertain.

I was there, at every turn, blocking myself from the sort of professional I wanted to be. I would have given anything to become one of those people who didn’t section off their lives into “work”, “play”, “duty”, “desire” and the like. I wanted each unique piece of me to fit comfortably together. But, I was too much. Too much of a curious mixture of bold and horribly shy or reserved. Resistant yet too pliant.  Insufficiently aggressive. Too much.  Of course, there were times when I did get a small taste of life. But it was never enough. I always hungered for more.  I lived like the sort of person I was not built to be- comfortable and inert.   I absolutely hated being a working girl.

Coming Next Tuesday: #4 When A Working Girl Forgoes Payment