In high school, I wasn’t allowed to have a car. My parents were on a tight budget with no room for extras, so adding another vehicle to the mix wasn’t a possibility. I didn’t get my license until 16 and a half, and while I was on my parents’ insurance as a driver, I could drive their cars, only with explicit permission. I wasn’t allowed to work during the school year, so I couldn’t have paid for the car myself.
Basically, I only drove myself to church on Sundays (family did not attend my church) and occasionally to see friends.
But I didn’t care.
As a non-drinking, non-partying, non-smoking, non-sneaking out Christian virgin in a strict and chaotic household, the avenues to assert my independence as a teenager were few, but I made use of them: my fingernails were painted stupid bright colors (like construction crew orange) and I walked everywhere. My hometown had no taxis or bus system: if you didn’t have a car, you needed a bike or a good pair of shoes.
It was about a mile from my doorstep to my high school and I walked, rain or shine or blizzard. It took me a whole 15 minutes to get ready in the morning – which included a shower – so in the winter my hair would often freeze. I remember once for a play, I carried two paint full paint cans the entire mile for a set painting session after school, a decision I regretted a city block into the walk, but didn’t have time to turn back. The first day of my senior year was a downpour – I walked – and I was soaked from the knees down the entire day. That sucked. My mom would have gladly driven me, but I wanted to do something on my own, I hated being kept under their thumb. I have always had an independent streak something fierce.
Walking has always been a part of my life, more so than a vehicle, and I think it’s part of the reason my heart is always pulled towards Europe and its pedestrian friendly walkable cities. In America, especially in my neck of Suburbia, everything was built around the car. I used to walk to a grocery store at my old job during lunch – it was 800 yards away – and I routinely had other co-workers ask if I needed a ride! This would happen only in America.
If I were to take this new gig – a management position of all things – it is only 1.5 miles from my house. And if I cut through the neighborhoods, I can walk there in about 25 minutes on foot. I’ve already tested this hypothesis. “You wouldn’t actually walk to work, would you?” my skeptical husband said when I told him of my plan. I would walk on most days when the weather cooperates. I wouldn’t be as extreme as I was in high school – after all, I would be in leadership and sloshing around with wet shoes and socks doesn’t exude professionalism, so on cold or wet days I would drive.
I must admit, the thought of walking to work is certainly a perk. A whole hour of quiet solitude or podcasts or phone calls to friends and family. Us introverts dream about these things!
I’m still debating if I should take this job. Since working in a hardware store in high school, I’ve always managed to talk myself out of going for the promotion. I do great work as a grunt. I have leadership skills and training, I’ve only chosen to keep them on the shelf all these years because I believe there’s always someone better for the gig than myself. I’ve often defaulted to people with a degree lower than my own or even less experience because I figure they know better than me. My fear of being wrong and hurting a patient keeps me up at night.
I can’t figure out if it’s a confidence thing or if it’s really just who I am. My IQ levels out as average, yet I have 15+ years of experience in this field in multiple settings, both in large and micro enterprises.
I know the management team I would be under and they love me. I’m 99% sure if I go for this gig, I’ll get it.
Maybe this is the way to go? Even if it’s just for the mentorship. But am I ready? I’m nearly 40 but still feel 24.
In the meantime, more prayer. I’m going to reach out to a contact after this week to get more information. And I have a book about management for this particular field.
Walking the walk? I might.