The whole idea of having a desk job had seemed the opposite of who she thought she was.
She looked around at all the others, wondering if they saw her playing her role, watching them watching her-to see if there were any cracks in the facade.
The notion of imposter syndrome was strong in her, except it was true. She was the real imposter.
The longer she stayed there, and talked to the others on the career ladder, in the cubicles, in the lunchroom and the hallways. She wasn't sure about her uniqueness anymore. Nobody else wanted to be there either. Everyone else had a dream as well.
But she had lived hers. She had been on the stage, she had been singing. She had lived inside the music in a way that she couldn't find life anywhere else.
She wasn't sure that she was ever going to focus on getting a promotion, but she knew she was disappointed when she didn't get them. The coffee wasn't her driving force, but it helped the mornings pass and it made her happy.
On the weekends, when she didn't drink it, she might spend the morning crying, which ruined her voice for singing for the rest of the day. So she made sure to remember her ambition on the weekends, ambition not to become CEO of her company-but to SING. Not even onstage again, but just to carry the music in her throat. In her mouth, it felt better than being kissed. It felt like being loved.
She looked around at all the others, wondering if they saw her playing her role, watching them watching her-to see if there were any cracks in the facade.
The notion of imposter syndrome was strong in her, except it was true. She was the real imposter.
The longer she stayed there, and talked to the others on the career ladder, in the cubicles, in the lunchroom and the hallways. She wasn't sure about her uniqueness anymore. Nobody else wanted to be there either. Everyone else had a dream as well.
But she had lived hers. She had been on the stage, she had been singing. She had lived inside the music in a way that she couldn't find life anywhere else.
She wasn't sure that she was ever going to focus on getting a promotion, but she knew she was disappointed when she didn't get them. The coffee wasn't her driving force, but it helped the mornings pass and it made her happy.
On the weekends, when she didn't drink it, she might spend the morning crying, which ruined her voice for singing for the rest of the day. So she made sure to remember her ambition on the weekends, ambition not to become CEO of her company-but to SING. Not even onstage again, but just to carry the music in her throat. In her mouth, it felt better than being kissed. It felt like being loved.
