The Days Of Our Lives
Today - November 21, 2019 - is the 3,000th day since I injured my spine. I remember the exact date of the injury (September 4, 2010) because it was the same day that I was issued my Massachusetts EMT license. That night, while taking a shower, I leaned forward...and broke my back. Yup, apparently it's just that easy to wreck your physical health. Sleep tight, dear readers!
As it happens, today is also the day on which I leave a job I've done for 4 years. If 4 years does not sound like a long time, keep in mind that I've been organizing volunteer programs longer than I've ever done any other type of job. (Excepting my work in my grandmother's auction barn, which was less regular but went on for longer.)
My last day of work calls to mind several other days. For one, there's November 20, 2014, the day I interviewed for this job. I was 12 weeks out from my second spinal surgery (and only 4 weeks out from a car accident that majorly set back my recovery). I was staying at my parents' house in Morris County, NJ, so the commute to NYC promised to be lengthy. In addition, the doctors had started to wean me off the painkillers, and as a result, I hadn't slept in two days.
As I was putting on my suit, my mother realized that my coat had lost a button. I was on my way to an interview with New York Cares, home of the country's largest Coat Drive. "You can't show up in a shoddy coat," Mom said, "Here, wear your sister's mink coat instead." So then I was a sleep-deprived, fur-coat-clad jobseeker limping towards the Financial District.
On the way to the city, it began to snow.
I was on my third attempt to read Moby Dick (in ebook form, fortunately), so I did my best to focus on my Kindle and not the chaos around me. Nonetheless, one homeless person got my attention by shouting, "nice coat! Looks warm!" while he was unbuttoning his pants to urinate on the subway tracks.
Another day that comes to mind is December 23, 2014. That was the day on which I received an email from New York Cares saying they had decided to go with another candidate.
Then on January 22, 2015, they emailed back to say that the other candidate had just quit, on the 6th day of her tenure. They offered me the job after all.
The days just kept on coming. On February 1, 2015, I got a hotel room in the city so I could be sure that snow wouldn't interrupt my first-day commute. On February 2, I became the only member of my team to make it to work. February 18, I moved to Brooklyn so I could be more effective as a New York program manager.
So it went for hundreds of days afterwards. I came into the office and tried to start, restart, improve, salvage, or gracefully end different programs. I forged relationships with partners across the city. I rode every single subway line, from start to finish, on official adult-education business. I built up trust with volunteers and ultimately filled more than 42,000 slots.
Forty-two. Thousand. Volunteer. Slots.
For 1,388 days, I've managed these programs, which now number about 50 per week. Leaving them behind is terrifying in all the best ways. But after 1,388 days' worth of work, I can confidently say that I'm leaving this office, in a cloth coat, with War of the Worlds on my Kindle, still limping, but well-rested and damn proud of what I've achieved here. When I sit down on Thanksgiving Day tomorrow, that sense of pride is what I'm grateful for.
As it happens, today is also the day on which I leave a job I've done for 4 years. If 4 years does not sound like a long time, keep in mind that I've been organizing volunteer programs longer than I've ever done any other type of job. (Excepting my work in my grandmother's auction barn, which was less regular but went on for longer.)
My last day of work calls to mind several other days. For one, there's November 20, 2014, the day I interviewed for this job. I was 12 weeks out from my second spinal surgery (and only 4 weeks out from a car accident that majorly set back my recovery). I was staying at my parents' house in Morris County, NJ, so the commute to NYC promised to be lengthy. In addition, the doctors had started to wean me off the painkillers, and as a result, I hadn't slept in two days.
As I was putting on my suit, my mother realized that my coat had lost a button. I was on my way to an interview with New York Cares, home of the country's largest Coat Drive. "You can't show up in a shoddy coat," Mom said, "Here, wear your sister's mink coat instead." So then I was a sleep-deprived, fur-coat-clad jobseeker limping towards the Financial District.
On the way to the city, it began to snow.
I was on my third attempt to read Moby Dick (in ebook form, fortunately), so I did my best to focus on my Kindle and not the chaos around me. Nonetheless, one homeless person got my attention by shouting, "nice coat! Looks warm!" while he was unbuttoning his pants to urinate on the subway tracks.
Another day that comes to mind is December 23, 2014. That was the day on which I received an email from New York Cares saying they had decided to go with another candidate.
Then on January 22, 2015, they emailed back to say that the other candidate had just quit, on the 6th day of her tenure. They offered me the job after all.
The days just kept on coming. On February 1, 2015, I got a hotel room in the city so I could be sure that snow wouldn't interrupt my first-day commute. On February 2, I became the only member of my team to make it to work. February 18, I moved to Brooklyn so I could be more effective as a New York program manager.
So it went for hundreds of days afterwards. I came into the office and tried to start, restart, improve, salvage, or gracefully end different programs. I forged relationships with partners across the city. I rode every single subway line, from start to finish, on official adult-education business. I built up trust with volunteers and ultimately filled more than 42,000 slots.
Forty-two. Thousand. Volunteer. Slots.
For 1,388 days, I've managed these programs, which now number about 50 per week. Leaving them behind is terrifying in all the best ways. But after 1,388 days' worth of work, I can confidently say that I'm leaving this office, in a cloth coat, with War of the Worlds on my Kindle, still limping, but well-rested and damn proud of what I've achieved here. When I sit down on Thanksgiving Day tomorrow, that sense of pride is what I'm grateful for.
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