I experienced the height of irony today. After a close examination of the facts, sans emotional messes, I began to wonder if I’m in the right job. Realistically.

With a knot in my stomach, I called a woman in the department at my firm that specializes in the development of reps. Her boss is my boss, the one person in the firm who can (and could) fire me. He is intimidating as hell, and the one person in the firm I admire the most. And here I am calling one of his staff members to see if I’m in the right career.

That is actually not irony. That’s part of her job. The irony came when I asked her the Big Question - what am I doing in this job? Am I doing the right thing?

There was a pause. It wasn’t a big pregnant pause. I could hear her typing something into her computer.

Then the typing ceased, and the pause became pregnant. I tensed up.

Michelle, she says quietly, do you know what today is?

No, I responded. I was just tired and wanted a nap. Or an angel to come down from Heaven and put a check in my money market account.

Congratulations, she says. Today is your two-year anniversary of selling for the firm.

That was the height of irony, when I thought about it later. Making that last-ditch phone call on the anniversary of my licensing. Can my life get any more screwed up than this?

Nothing was resolved. I still have no answers. I’m still employed, but I have no answers. And I have until Tuesday at 3pm to sell another $100,000 of something in order to just barely pay the bills. If not, the month will end, the paycheck will arrive, the bills will arrive, and I will have a nervous breakdown.

Am I kidding?

No.

Packing my bags for the trip,

michelle