A bird with a stunted wing

I’ve been at my new job full-time for a little over a month now, and my internal monologue has become more strident and provocative.  I have been confused at times, frustrated at times, often realizing that I was more accustomed to making decisions independently than I thought. When I ran my bookstore, I conceptualized, evaluated, decided and executed nearly everything myself.  Now I bristle at direction and also at the lack of it.  I am confused about what I do and what I should do.  I have my instincts and sometimes I follow them but most of the time I leave myself open to multiple instructions and opinions and I end up frozen in place, not knowing what to do next, feeling fundamentally unable to perform as I should. Then the internal voice starts criticizing me, insinuating that my ineptitude at work reflects a bigger, broader inability to function in any setting.  I think about all the things I have failed to complete or have screwed up, not just at work, not just since I moved to Houston a decade ago, but always.  I opened the door to professional failure by leaving Kessler for journalism school. I am fundamentally flawed, like a bird born without one wing, or with one stunted wing that keeps him unbalanced, spinning, doomed to never leave the ground and fly, jealous of the other birds in the air. I’ve taken a leave of absence from […]

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