Wednesday: Self-Care
Good morning, kind readers and followers. I told you I’d be writing regularly again. . . I have a lot to learn, and a lot to re-learn. As I told someone earlier this week, back in 2003 when I started working at America Online/AOL/Aol./Verizon/whatever-it-is-now, I was a senior programming manager, although I preferred my other title of Books Editor.
Being a senior programming manager meant learning how to code. Most of my colleagues had known something about coding before they were hired, or come up through the ranks, or understood that HTML was part of the job.
HA. I didn’t! I took the job believing I’d be reading most of the day, then spending a few hours in the afternoon writing up reviews and pithy thoughts. I was disabused of that notion quickly as my new boss set me the task of learning a publishing tool called Big Bowl. So exciting, he said. We can move modules anywhere on a page that we want!
Where was my quiet corner of the internet in which I could talk books with bookish people? Where was the Readerville of yesteryear? People, this was before blogs hit the mainstream. It was also before I hit the publishing world with the full force of my naive perspective. I knew nothing about the literary world. I didn’t know who was publishing great criticism, who was holding the best reading series, or even which restaurants those in the book world frequented.
I was totally green Green around the gills, too! After two or three days on the job, I knew I was in way over my head. I had no idea how to code a header, let alone an entire page of content. Adding photos? Artwork? VIDEO? What was everyone talking about and how did they all understand how to learn about a tool without asking for help?
My default mode in situations like this was to work harder and, unfortunately, not smarter. I hated having to ask for help, especially since the first time or three that I managed to ask I was rebuffed. Small wonder: My colleagues were working as hard as I was and had meeting-stuffed schedules that scarcely allowed for lunch, let alone giving tutorials to the hapless. After a few weeks of constant duty at my keyboard, I looked down at my inner left wrist and saw a large bump that had never been there before.
“Oh, that’s a bible bump,” said a work friend. “Lots of us get them. It happens when you type a lot. You should see if ErgoDebra can help you.” “ErgoDebra” — we all referred to each other by our AOL Instant Messaging handles.
I marched into my manager’s office. “I need to take a day off!” I squeaked. “Look at my wrist! I need to go to the doctor.” To my manager’s credit, she did not laugh in my face. “It’s fine if you need to see your doctor,” she said. “But let’s get you a better chair and a keyboard tray, too.”
ErgoDebra arrived a few days later and measured and disassembled and got my workspace better equipped for my short height and short arms. During my remaining years at AOL, I was able to work comfortably. — at least when I was in my cubicle at the Dulles headquarters (I spent time in Manhattan and also working from home, pioneering today’s telecommute).
However, the real upshot of my “bible bump” and its workplace treatment is that, after years of believing I had to have answers — and the correct ones — or face punishment from a parent or teacher or professor or supervisor, I could ask for help, receive it, and continue to ask for it. To ask questions instead of pretending I had all the answers. To know that getting more information is better than maintaining the facade of pride.
All of us are allowed to ask questions. Asking for help is a sign of strength, not weakness. Take care of yourself, dear ones, by asking for something today or this week, whether it’s more time on a deadline, or just sprinkles on your ice cream.