“POP” goes the Career Dream

How many of you ladies go through university thinking that you will be that next Oprah, Carol Bartz, or Indra Nooyi?

I know I did…

I had always thought that as soon as I graduate, I want to get my dream job; something that is interesting, challenging, and rewarding, I wanted to be in on time, do a little over time, and deliver a little extra to set myself apart from the rest. I wanted to wear my heals, pencil skirts and blazers, sit in important meetings, and have my lunch brought to me desk. I wanted to be given the hard tasks because I’m simply the best, get recognition for what I do, and be on my boss’s good side so I can skip that career ladder and use the career elevator.

How things change…

After sending endless CV’s to almost every employer I can get my hands on, going to endless interviews, and waiting patiently for a call back, I found a job (scratch dream). At first it was great! I was finally living the dream! Until interesting became boring, challenging became a routine, and rewarding became pocket money. Then getting out of bed was a drag, doing a little overtime was torture, and delivering a little extra…why should I bother! Then heals gave blisters, skirts were too up-tight, and blazers looked better on Jeans. And the career elevator, more like climbing up Mount Fuji, barefooted, and pulling a wagon of boulders behind you!

Being Optimistic…

I still want to find the dream job, and be all that I can be. However, having a lenient work schedule, moderate work load, dressing casually, and leaving early are much more valued than anything else. No matter how much time and energy we give into work it will never be enough, the job will never be done, and it might save you a year or two on the promotion, but being able to spend extra time with friends, family and soon children is worth much more than having a corner office.

Little Brother

Can you think of someone, anyone, who is your oldest friend, someone you can’t remember your childhood without, someone who has been with you through thick and thin, someone who you fought with, then made up, someone who blackmailed you with your secrets but never told anyone, someone who has always shared everything with you, including the last piece of cake that everyone fights for.

A lot of people are popping up in your head right now, but in mine, I can see one person.

He was born on November 9, 1989, a year and 8 moths after my birth date. He was chubby, pink, and blond. Everyone at the hospital was in awe at what a beautiful baby he was. At the time, I was preoccupied with my red tricycle and shoes to notice the new family member.

Before long, he was walking behind me, playing with me; from Barbies to cars; and even sharing some of my clothes. Growing up in Canada with Lebanese roots and Arabic being spoken at home, no one could understand his heavy Anglo-Arab words but me.

The older we grew, the more distracted we got with our own lives. The last days of school were marked by official exams, SATs, and university applications. Then came the messed up university schedule, finals, projects, friends, and work. Before we knew it, I was planning a marriage, and he was planning to work abroad.

Now, my little brother is a man, and living and working in another country.

I no longer see him everyday after work, or fight with him because he made me late to work in the morning. No more evening talks about plans, girls, life, education… n no more pancakes with extra Nutella.

I can’t see my little brother everyday and I miss him.

School Boys

A walk down memory lane with Noor this morning made us laugh our hearts out.

The 9^th and 10^th grade, teenagers with raging hormones, boys in baggy jeans with no facial hair whatsoever, puppy love, and an allowance we get at the end of the week from our parents. Classic!

I remember my school days like they were yesterday. When scoring low on a Math exam meant the end of my academic future for ever, not going to Dunes or Concord on Saturday meant the end of my social life, and if that boy doesn’t leave me a letter in my desk at the break, then I won’t let him copy my homework.

Hahaha!

What the hell were we thinking people?

It’s so funny how things that seemed so significant then, are just a topic of a funny conversation now. When we were young, the boy sitting behind us in class was our soul mate; the boy with the new phone was the rich one, and the boy who used to talk back at the teacher and charge out of the class was the bad ass. What a miniature world! Mini in the mind!

When we were is school:

·         We’d like someone because they were good looking (lets face it, being good looking while going through puberty is a real deal breaker),

·         We’d like someone because they had a great personality (Duhh.. at 15, your personality is in the midst of its development)

·         We’d think that guy is a gentleman because he’d pay for our movie tickets, just because we are girls and no girl going out with him would pay (poor kid, he must have saved that allowance all week)

·         We’d think he’s tough if he’d beat up the other boys for talking to us (the classic “what are you looking at” pushing and shoving)

·         We’d think he has cool parents for letting him drive without a license (dumb asses, did you find your kid on the street)

·         We’d think he’s mature if he’d smoke in the playground bathroom (you idiot, it was just yesterday you tried a cigarette and nearly chocked with red eyes)

·         We’d live in ultimate suspense when he’d call our home phones and then jam the line in our parents’ face if they answered (you coward, be a man and ask my dad for permission to talk to me, he won’t bite)

We grow out of all that, apply to university and get a degree, then graduate and get a job…then finally meet the one who is good looking because that’s how God made him, who has a great personality because he had a proper upbringing and learnt from life’s lessons, who pays for our everything because he earned the money to do so, who stands up for us when we need it the most, and who has the guts to knock on our parents’ door and ask their permission for marriage.

I can’t wait to go through all that again…with my kids!