An eleven

At the end of the day yesterday, the company president at the new gig stopped by my desk (when you’re a staff of 12 that’s not such an odd occurrence) and asked how my week was going so far. “Scale of one to ten,” he said.

Please. Without missing a beat, I replied, “It’s an eleven.”

He chuckled. “Good answer.”

The thing is, it’s true.

This week, my first back at work in over three months, has been more of a readjustment than I expected. But not in anything having to do with the job itself, really. It’s remembering to set my out of office message when I’m going to be away, remembering to pack a fork with the salad I’m bringing for lunch. Remembering to bring a lunch.

It’s been a week a long time coming, not just since I left my last paycheck in Utah. But since I first attended a film festival, first saw a crowd gathered to see an independent film, first decided I wanted to make a life being a part of those films, those audiences.

I likely won’t bog down much of this space with work anecdotes. But I did want to reassure those of you who’ve followed along for the last several months. More than once this week – more than once every day this week – I lost complete focus on whatever task I was working on for a brief moment. It was a moment that it simply occurred to me, for no reason in particular, that I am here.

I feel like I’ve made it to the other side of some rickety rope bridge over a canyon and I’m finally standing on solid ground again. And the view from here is lovely.

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