I’m doing some cleanup on my iMac’s hard drive, and I ran across this. It’s labeled “..response_blogpost,” although I really think it was an email to a high school friend. Although it cuts off toward the end, it’s an explanation to my friend as to why I panicked at the thought of attending my high school reunion in August 2008, written just a few days afterward.
Hey D:
I often trivialize my life in conversation. Although I have no unusual drama or tragedy in my life, and I consider myself generally blessed, I’ll sometimes say things like:
(When asked where I’m from) Well, I was born in Virginia Beach General Hospital, and this is as far as I’ve come in 37 years.
(When asked about my job) I’m 37, and I work at the mall.
Of course, I know that it’s my choice to stay in Virginia Beach / Hampton Roads, and I know that my job is more than just a retail clerk in a mall shop. But I sometimes use self-effacing humor; I guess I always have.
What currently gnaws at my soul has nothing to do with job or status or material success. It has more to do with self-assessment, and I’m just coming to terms with the fact that, for the past 20 years, I have neglected to be who I really am.
It was that revelation that kept me from going to the reunion. I just needed time to work it out in my head.
When the chance came for me to see you and some other folks the night before the reunion, in a setting less immersed in nostalgia, I was grateful for the opportunity. I figured I could handle the smaller dose, and I did. Mostly.
I knew that there were words out there — words that were lurking in the shadows like ninja assassins, waiting for an innocent, well-intentioned conversation to be initiated before they sprung out at me.
The first was a blade in the side: “Are you still playing music?”
Ouch. Kinda expected that one, but it still stung. “No. I sold my keyboards back in college.”
Then the sucker punch: “So what about art? Are you still painting and stuff?”
That one took the wind out of me. “No, not really. Well, not as much as I like, but I’m trying to start to reconnect with that side of me again.”
The final assessment to my feeble replies was the same for both inquiries: “Oh. That’s a shame.”
I could take it one time, maybe a few times. It’s only natural to expect to hear these things. But I couldn’t handle hearing them over and over and over again from everyone. And until I heard them last Friday night, I didn’t know just what it was that I was afraid to face.
I was afraid to face myself. I was afraid to see — afraid to accept — that I had neglected to nourish my own soul these past two decades.
I made a couple of bad choices early in life, just after high school, and somehow I got it into my head that I would pay for them the rest of my life. My life unraveled at 21, and I was so emotionally scarred, I just gave up.
I’m compelled to share this for a couple of reasons:
1) It may help to explain my frame of mind - if I seemed dismissive or distant in Summer 2008, this is probably why; and
2) looking at the writing, I can’t really believe I wrote this. Not that it’s great or anything…but it’s a fair sight better than what I feel I’m capable of doing now.
Then again, that (and this whole post, for that matter) could be explained away by the fact that it’s currently 3:12 a.m. as I write this.
I’ve gotten that question quite a few times over the past few weeks regarding my departure from Apple. The quick answer is simply, “I’m not really sure.”
The long answer is still a bit puzzling to me.
I’ve never given the store or my customers and my teammates anything less than my very best. But I guess somewhere along the line, the demand for tech support increased beyond what management felt I could effectively deliver. I never really saw things that way, but that was a perception that I could not change, despite focused efforts for most of 2009. Eventually I realized that no matter what I did, I would always be perceived as the anchor that dragged bar appointments down.
I offered to step aside as Genius, hoping I could transition to another position, but I was told there was no other position for me at the store. I was informed that I would be terminated (there were some other HR issues - brought up by me, but nothing that involved anyone other than me - that needed to be resolved before that could happen). I asked instead if I could resign, and management accommodated that request. For that, I’m extremely grateful.
I’m not one to toot my own horn, but personally, I feel I was a valuable asset to the store and to my team. I’m a competent technician, and my customer service skills are exceptional. The reason I’m good at my job is that I love what I do. I love Apple’s products and philosophy, and I love taking care of its customers.
I still don’t really understand why management felt that me not being part of the store team anymore - in any capacity - was the best solution, but the decision was management’s to make, and I don’t bear any ill will because of it. It’s their job to do what they feel is best for the store.
You can take the geek out of Apple, but you can’t take Apple out of the geek. So I’m going to give this independent consultant thing everything I’ve got. I’m hoping that my customer service philosophy, new flexibility from not being tied to Apple directly, and my passion for the products and my expertise, will translate into a successful business. I hope to be able to continue to work closely with the store to provide great solutions to Apple’s customers for the services the store isn’t set up to provide.
We went to see Devo in concert at the 9:30 club in Washington, D.C. last night, and it was amazing. We got there early enough to claim a spot by the stage, and I bought a tour t-shirt and an “energy dome” (“flowerpot hats,” for the non-Devo fans). After a mildly humorous opening comedy act, Devo performed their Freedom Of Choice album in its entirety, with several encores afterward.
We hung around a bit after the show — half because I had heard they came on for a final encore in their street clothes the night before, and half because I didn’t want to get snarled in post-concert traffic.
As we were waiting, we saw that the band was meeting some fans on the balcony. So after Jake got his swag, we started to head upstairs. Jake was met with a club staffer, who informed him the balcony was closed to the public. Dejected, Jake told me he’d wait for me outside while I excused myself to the men’s room.
When I came out, I saw Jake just outside. I turned and saw the stairs up, and I asked another staffer if the meet & greet was invitation-only. He said only “guest passes” were allowed access, and, as if on cue, the female half of an older couple (early-mid 50s, maybe?) who happened to be standing right there looked at me and said, “I would love one of those hats to take home for my daughter. Would you like our guest passes?”
Would I? HELLZ YES! Thanks so much, nice (drunk?) lady! Here’s my hat. I’ll get another online!
So, we ventured upstairs with our newly-acquired guest passes, and we made ourselves over to the band, which by that time was only Mark Mothersbaugh and Jerry Casale. I introduced myself and Jake to Mark, and spoke with him for a few minutes — he couldn’t have been a nicer guy. Very gracious and very kind. After we spoke, he started to walk off to the back room, when Jake called out, “Mr. Mothersbaugh, would you please sign my Energy Dome? And could I please get a picture with you?” He graciously accommodated Jake’s request:
I wanted to get my photo taken with Mark, but he looked like he was weary from the previous barrage of folks, so I decided I’d try to meet Jerry instead. But when we got over to Jerry, he was involved in a conversation with another fan (who was much cuter and much more female than either of us), so we decided to go ahead and leave, rather than awkwardly interrupt.
So we left. I finally saw Devo live after 25 years of wanting to do so, and I shared it with the best possible person I could have shared it with. Score a big check mark on our Geek Cred cards.
