The Rat Race

Mom, Dad, I made it. I've got an office job in the city, my own desk with a view of Sydney's Central Business District, and I drink an "almond flat white" every morning (I know that sounds like a concoction that would cost $7 a pop at Starbucks, but I promise it's not that much.) I'm living the high life up there on the 14th floor - not getting paid, per say, but no matter.

These last two weeks, I've felt very grown-up. I feel like I'm officially a competitor in the proverbial "rat race" (except for the whole not getting paid part.)

Much of this has to do with my current lifestyle and routine more-so than my job itself. I've been an intern before, and I know what a difficult position it is. The life of an intern is a tap-dance of trying to avoid stepping on toes, figuring out how much you are truly integrated into the team, deciphering instructions and systems and protocols, all while trying to soak up as much information as possible. Though I'm learning an incredible amount from my supervisors and coworkers everyday, the work isn't the only thing making me feel like a rat.

It's the getting to work.

My office building is almost exactly one mile from Urbanest, meaning walking is the most logical option for me. This is VERY LUCKY, and I am VERY APPRECIATIVE - I don't want this post to imply otherwise. But what that one mile means to me- a person who is constantly living at the edges of "on time"- is that it's turned into a daily experiment in efficiency. I walk out of my building and open an app, intent on finding the quickest way possible to get from point A to point B. Can I cut my ETA by two minutes if I cross the street here or at the next light? I'm sure someone at Google is monitoring my daily times and testing my intelligence as if I truly am a lab rat. She wore heels today - add two minutes and subtract two intelligence points: that was a bad move.

MacArthur Street, MaryAnn Street, Harris Street, Omnibus Lane, Pitt Street, George Street, Liverpool Street, Dixon Street, Haymarket, and Darling Harbor are all starting to align themselves in my head. I'm orienting myself to the city, and what I've found is that on the days I give myself more time to explore, I feel less like a test animal.
 
This, I've started to think, is very important. Sometimes as I trod my to work beside briefcase-carrying competitors in the rat race, I fear my face projects the same lifeless look that children identify on adults (it definitely does by the end of the day.)

On the mornings when I find a new coffee shop; however, or a new alleyway, I'm as enamored as I was the day we got here. That's worth a few extra minutes, even if it means losing the rat race.



(For the record, I have not been late once and most of the time I fall within the first 15 minutes of the acceptable 30 minute window of arrival time at my office - turns out the key is to leave earlier. Who's winning now?)