Happy Path

Marrying into the Family

During a departmental meeting, I looked around the table. A joke started forming in my head. What do you get when you take two Russians, two Indians, one Bajan, a Romanian...Actually, what did you get? As talk of ABMs filled the air, my mind wandered. If newly laid off Molly had been dropped into this meeting and told this was the group she'd be working with next, what would she have thought? How long would it have taken her to piece together what these people had in common? In reality, I was still piecing it together. I did look as if I'd been randomly dropped into this group and was trying to work out my place in it.

At Charles's urging, I'd tried to imagine what it would be like to be a project manager. If I worked toward my PMP, this could be a real career path; one that had vast applications across many different fields. Logically, it made a lot of sense. It would be the kind of decision a career-driven, forward-thinking person would make in my situation.

A few weeks earlier, I'd walked into Richard's office and Dennis was there. Apparently, they'd been talking about me. "Molly," Dennis said as I entered the office, "are you going to be a project manager?" I considered how to answer, not wanting to offend him, even though his question somehow offended me.

"I'm not sure that's in the cards for me." I hoped that would quash the inquiries about my future. The only future I foresaw with The Bank was my eventual escape.

"You could put hours worked as a PCO toward your PMP*," Richard said encouragingly. I looked at both of them, anxious to help me grow out of my low-level position. I wanted to tell them that I already had a career in broadcasting and that this job was just a stopover until I could return to my real work. But was it? Could I go back? Would I be able to go back?

"I guess I could think about doing that," I said. "Here are the papers you wanted, Richard." I laid some invoices on the desk and left before there could be any further discussion.

I'd tried on several occasions to convince myself that maybe I could stay with The Bank if I changed jobs. A woman I'd worked with on a project was leaving after 25 years with The Bank and her boss had actually asked Charles whether I'd be interested in the position.

"What's her title?" I asked, assuming it was Project Manager.

"Business Analyst," he replied. I laughed.

"Well, I'm guessing you told Tilly that I have zero experience in that area and that I'm just struggling to understand my current job?"

"I told her you weren't for sale and that she couldn't poach you."

"That probably gives me a more dignified out, thanks."

Even though I wasn't qualified to have these jobs, I could work toward becoming qualified. And the fact that long-time bank employees seemed to believe I could rise to the challenge made me wonder if they saw something I didn't. Was I less lost than I assumed? Did I occasionally make intelligent observations and suggestions? Was some of my old confidence returning? Oh, but that was only a small piece of the puzzle. What about the fact that I loathed my job? I wasn't interested in IT or finance, and Project Management as I'd come to know it couldn't be less appealing. It was almost insulting that adding Project Control Officer at a financial institution to my LinkedIn profile was causing recruiters to contact me about similar positions. Didn't they know I had only donned this facade until my tribe called me home?

Every few weeks, Charles would call me into his office for a brain dump. He'd impart some of his knowledge about the workplace or IT and I'd walk out with an enhanced grasp of the world around me. On more than one occasion, he described a program or project as "cool" or "fun" and I'd respond by giggling involuntarily, telling him we must have different definitions for those words.