This morning, my co-workers and I took our boss out to a quick breakfast of oatmeal and coffee in honor of her birthday. Though we successfully avoided talking very much about work, my boss did say the following about her 11-year tenure with the company. It was quite enlightening, and almost poetic; I've been thinking about it all day:
I never thought that I would still be here. When I was 23, I thought I'd stay around for a few years, then move on to a different job, one with more writing because I wanted to be a writer. Journalism even, maybe. But then I watched all of my friends get laid off in the dot-com bust, all while I felt more and more secure here. My job was easy enough. I got to travel, practice yoga, do things I was passionate about, and finally just realized that I didn't need work to define my life. I should define my life.
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