Tag: Reassurance

New Year’s Day

As the first day of Freshers’ Week, today – if you work in higher education – almost felt more like New Year’s Day than 1 January itself. There’s a buzz around the campus again, the kind of buzz you miss when everyone’s away over the summer months. Its absence stands out like a sore thumb, but so does the warmth you feel when it returns. As it turns out, that warmth may well be conducive to creativity too. I’ve spent nearly every week since my last post scribbling waffle in my notebook to varying degrees of desperation, but ultimately, nothing I wrote had any life in it. Most of it stopped making sense in the end – I was flogging a dead horse. Happily, I don’t feel that way typing this. It feels like the fire underneath has been reignited, to an extent.

I gave four short appointments to students today, new faces who were each looking for part-time work. I obviously can’t go into detail about who I spoke to or what we discussed, but I can tell you that seeing them become visibly more relaxed about their prospects was immensely satisfying. There can’t be many situations where you can see weights lifted from people’s shoulders in real time. I always say that I’ve felt valued over the last 18 months, but that’s never been truer than it was today. I made a difference, however small, and when that happens you can’t possibly struggle for new material. There are virtues to extol, and not only in my professional life, but my personal life too. My archery beginner’s course looms on Saturday – the first session, at least. I’m looking forward to it, and to hitting more than the woodwork this time. I just need to make sure I build up my upper body strength a bit first, because those bows are tough without a decent pair of biceps. I’m sure I’ll let you know how it goes. Here’s hoping I have another reason to smile by next Monday!

Mason

Take A Deep Breath

I’ve just received a new notebook. Of course, it’s not my first, and it certainly won’t be my last either, but it is somewhat more precious than those I normally acquire. I tend not to write explicitly about my job, but yesterday, my line manager Liz left for pastures new, and it’s fair to say that all of us in the office are already feeling her absence. She works very hard, but has a habit of injecting a healthy dose of fun and laughter into every day, and never leaves you feeling anything other than 100% supported. Let me tell you, that kind of backing goes a long way – especially if, like me, you put yourself down at nearly every opportunity. I made both that and my gratitude for my hiring clear to her when we said our goodbyes. In return, she told me how well she thought I’d settled in, and how valuable my help had been. It soon turned out that that wasn’t all she had to say, as I discovered when I opened the notebook – a parting gift – upon getting home.

The book itself wasn’t unique to me, because we’d all been given one, but the handwritten message on the first page was. I’m going to leave it here so you can all appreciate it as much as I do. Sometimes we can all benefit hugely from some simple reassurance, no matter who it’s from or what the situation is, and this will certainly put a smile on my face whenever I look at it. Not only do I put myself down a lot, but I’m also constantly concerned about my timekeeping, because it seems like there are always ten Very Important Things to do at any one moment. Priorities are never far from the front of my mind – not to mention how the hell I manage them – but Liz does her best to put my fears at rest here. That’s typical of her.

“Dear Mason,

“Enjoy this notebook at work, so you can chuckle each day at the so-called ‘jokes’ at the bottom.*

“Congratulations on all you have achieved in this role so far. Take a deep breath – you are doing far better than you think and you are far smarter than you realise. Don’t forget to fill your diary with your plans for your work each day, then it will remind you to complete it.

“All the best, Liz x”.

Mason

*The notebook is both lined and includes questionable one-liners: “My wallet is like an onion. Every time I open it, it makes me cry.”

Lemon Drizzle Cake

I returned to Winchester yesterday morning for the start of my second semester, and I must admit that upon doing so, I found a room that was just a little bit tidier than it was when I left it a month ago (not that it was a pigsty). I often live in a state of what I like to call “organised chaos”, in a room that is somewhat cluttered and yet still easy enough to navigate – in spite of any mess, I still know where everything is. When I entered this room, though, in its current condition, I did for once appreciate just how relaxed and satisfied a totally uncluttered space could make me. Having thrown away most of the paper from last semester that was no longer needed, I could actually see most of my desk, and to preserve this newfound neatness Mum stacked my books at the back of it, right against the wall. This simple touch means that it will be much easier to work on it and move things around it as I please. As I sit at my desk now, typing this, with my phone to my left and a coffee and arrowword book to my right, I am calm, and I know this because of how easily I am writing and how well the words are flowing. This feels like a good omen for the weeks to come.

No matter how comfortable I am here, though, I couldn’t leave Somerset without something to remind me of home. In this instance, I have a lemon drizzle cake Mum lovingly prepared the day before we left. My brother got one to take with him too, although Mum informs me that his is slightly misshapen compared to mine, so I’m going to take that as cast-iron confirmation that I am her favourite son after all. Nobody is more surprised than me that the cake is still with us, and that it hasn’t been completely devoured mere hours after my return. At this moment only one slice is missing, and the entire dish sits obscured from my view – on a table behind me, tightly wrapped in foil – so that I can’t be tempted. So far, the plan is working a treat. It needed to, judging by how quickly I demolished most of the chocolate I received on Christmas Day. For the time being, it waits patiently, while fulfilling two important roles. Not only is it a delicious piece of home baking that will soon be very gratefully received by my stomach, but it is also a reassuring presence that soothes me even further – I know it could potentially be valuable comfort food at a time of need.

Mason