Maternity leave? It’s been a decade
I’m back in an office. And I’ve just realised – I no longer know who work me is…
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My name is Jen, and I just pressed Ctl Alt Del on my whole life.
Today marks my seventh day as the full-time managing editor of a major food guide – a new job to go with a new house, car and climate.
I have my own desk, and a work phone, and not one but two business cards being printed as I type. I order sushi and sandwiches to my desk and eat them gazing out over Dubai’s Palm Jumeirah. There’s an office barista station supplying me with as many black coffees – or oat milk frappucinos should I suddenly get a taste for them – as I can drink in a day, I’ve conducted six interviews on camera already, and I went to my first black tie event three days after I started, while Arthur made his way home to Rich on a big yellow school bus.
From the outside, everything looks ever so exciting – exactly the situation I’ve been craving, dreaming of, since I left the office for the last time all those years ago, not knowing I wouldn’t return. Why, then, do I feel like I’ve fallen, flailing, into someone else’s story?