I’ve been thinking a lot lately about capacity. In that my capacity to take on the challenges of my job has recently and bizarrely felt almost physical. My (relatively) tiny frame feels like it’s almost overwhelmed by the seemingly daily office dramas and dilemmas. It’s like the burden is literally on my shoulders.
I suppose I’ve been aware for a long time that I have the mental capacity to handle a great deal. As I was growing up, I faced things that cause a lot of people to crack and I never have, I think because I have some pretty good coping mechanisms as well as wonderful family and friends. This may or may not be a healthy thing, of course. It may be that I just internalise things and I don’t really deal with them. And one day, they’ll all mount up and I’ll experience one big melt down. There’s something to look forward to.
So, for the first time, my physical capacity seems stretched to its very limit (that was the point of this blog entry). And I am, frankly, exhausted by the constant, violent yo-yoing of my confidence in my own abilities and my subsequent enjoyment of the job.
And I’m trying to decide if it’s a result of my relative immaturity in terms of my career or if it will always be like this but I’ll simply develop strategies over time to deal with it.
It’s not enough to want to give up at this stage but it is starting to feel enough to consider it.
During the long (and, if I recall, hot) summer after I graduated, I mainly lived alone in our Cardiff flat, whilst Chris worked in Gloucester and I looked for jobs in the West Midlands. And during that summer, I spent a great deal of time lying on our lime green sofa with the balcony doors open and I read prolifically. Since then, other things have got in the way and my reading has been limited to a few pages on the bus on the way to work, a few more in bed before I fall asleep and, where possible, some more on a Sunday morning.
But since the wedding and my degree have finished, I’m spending more and more evenings reading for several hours. It’s the nicest thing and I’d forgotten how relaxing it could be. Plus, for the first time in a long time, I’m reading books at a faster rate than I’m buying them. Which is definitely a good thing.
And I’ve read some really good stuff as well. Last week, I finished “The Believers” by Zoe Heller, which was beautifully written, although I barely cared about its middle-class protagonists and their (to me) somewhat insignificant concerns. And now I’m reading “The Other Side of You” by Salley Vickers, which has turned out to be worth the perseverance, even though I struggled with her clunky prose at first. It has loosened up a bit and the story is an essentially good one.
Trying to decide what’s next…
P.S. This blog entry reminds me of this song. Which is also the nicest thing.