Holding Back

I have a tendency to hold back, through a mix of laziness and fear. I fear failure but I also fear the extra work success might bring, no matter the rewards. I've never really enjoyed change. All around me, things change. Television shows get canceled. Fast-food chains (tragically)use “hip” lingo in their slogans. Action figures are held hostage. Even tonight's Smallville boasted some significant developments which, while telegraphed, were marvelously executed. Let's just say I could see Tom Welling about to reverse the Earth's rotation after one pivotal scene.

Sometimes I feel like I'm sitting still, while everyone and everything else around me is moving at an accelerated rate. I tend to stay at rest until acted upon by an unbalanced force. The other day I mentioned I was considering changing cubicles. Many times in the past bigger spots in better locations with quieter neighbors have been available, and I've stayed put. Over the course of five years my neighbor has gotten louder and louder. She's perpetually sick, and is constantly coughing. She's endlessly complaining about how much “fr***n' werk” she has, even though she has pretty much the same workload as I do--less actually, since she doesn't design book jackets in addition to catalogs and flyers. Part of the reason she struggles is because she alternates between working and either yelling at her husband or her daughter or her mother on the phone, or coordinating soccer practices, or any number of other personal information-filled phone calls that breach my headphones. I don't need or want to know all that. Amid her complaints I hear a lot of frustrating things. She color-corrects EVERY piece of art our staff illustrators provide, even though it's an established fact that NONE of our monitors are color-calabrated properly and the most accurate monitors are the ones the illustrators use. This afternoon she was complaining to everyone in earshot that she couldn't find a good color in her Pantone book, that they all “sucked”. First of all, those color chips fade with time. Secondly, she spent twenty minutes grousing aloud over what color to make an envelope. I spend all of twenty minutes designing my envelopes; I spend about two choosing colors. The printing process on our envelopes is low budget, and the paper is of poor quality. Our customers probably don't even look at the envelope in what (I hope is) their haste to get at the catalog inside and buy books from us. So finding the exact shade of green for the envelope isn't exactly a priority to devote a lot of time to, let alone loudly complain about it.

Her attitude about work is contagious. I subconsciously feel overwhelmed by my work because in the background I hear how far behind she is with everything. Yet somehow yesterday and today I found myself caught up, with very little to do, and even got down to the gym as early as 5:30. If her attitude is contagious, her germs are moreso. I can tune out some of the noise, but little can be done about the illness.

Ever since my friends bugged me the other day, I have been thinking about moving. I decided I didn't want to leave this safe space I had enjoyed for five years, especially after redecorating. My writer is a convenient two cubicles away. Why should I move? At lunch one of my friends said if I didn't go for the new spot by the end of the day, he might. I was ready to let him take it. After lunch it was quiet, and then she returned. I listened to coughing. I created a new e-mail with the subject line “Empty Cubicle”, addressed it to my supervisor, and saved it to my drafts folder. I listened to that nonsense with the envelope. I opened the draft, and composed a request, and saved it again. I thought about my computer. Would I be able to keep the same one? Would I need to clean out my hard drive? What about my phone extension? Would I keep that? And then I heard a lot of rustling and metallic sounds as she dropped a ruler while fiddling with the antenna on her radio which is attached to the ceiling by a chain of paperclips in a futile attempt to get reception inside the center of a concrete office building. I listened to the crashing and the cursing that gave way to profanity which was punctuated by barking, and I hit SEND, baby!

Within five minutes my boss was there to tell me he forwarded the inquiry to his boss. Within ten, his boss paid me a personal visit and asked if I was sure, since the previous occupant found the area too dark. I don't mind the dark, have a good lamp, and the other cubicle is larger and near my bookcase of Sci Fi Art Books that I refer to when hiring illustrators. I also whispered that it was quieter and pointed to the wall, where my neighbor was fortunately talking very loudly on the phone about soccer practice. My boss' boss smiled and said “WHAT WAS THAT? I COULDN’T HEAR YOU!”, and then told me she would talk to the head of our department right away, and get an answer for me in a few days.

I felt really good when she left. Once I got over the hurdle of asking, it was a lot easier than I thought it would be. I don't just hold back on hard stuff--I hold back on stuff I THINK is hard but really isn't. I wish I didn't do that. The last time I hesitated to ask my superiors for something—a WACOM drawing tablet—I was astonished at how accommodating they were. I'm not celebrating my liberation yet, since someone else may well have beaten me to it due to my hesitation, but I feel really good that I at least asked.

Oh, and don't worry about that action figure I mentioned earlier; he's safe now.