When you learn a new language, right away you learn how to talk about the activities that you like. This is how you find people like you, people you could be friends with.
A big trend in job interviews is talking about hobbies and interests. Presumably your interviewer is extrapolating what kind of person you really are. You know, on the inside. Your hobbies and interests characterize you.
When you're a kid, you dream about making your interests into a career. My second grade presentation was about my future career as an author. By middle school, I equally wanted to be a copyeditor.
What do my hobbies, interests, and small pleasures say about me?
Crocheting.
Reading.
Appreciating good document design.
Drinking tea with a bit of honey and milk.
Cross-stitching.
Being at church.
Sewing.
Keeping a journal.
Folding laundry.
Taking long bubble baths and sipping white wine.
Writing real, paper letters.
Playing croquet.
Editing, with caveats.
Going for leisurely bike rides.
Washing dishes by hand.
In what ways do my hobbies, interests, and small pleasures not at all represent who I am, you know, on the inside - in the ways that matter?
What kind of person do your hobbies say you are?
This blog is about roller derby.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Read me like a book
This one thing has bothered me all my life. It's my face.
I recently started a new job, and a big part of it is using highly sophisticated equipment and software that's not yet particularly intuitive or user-friendly. I've spent hours revising one of the software manuals. I've spent hours trying to use the software to do aforementioned revising. And I've spent hours trying to figure out snags myself.
This is where my face bothers me.
My boss walks into the room, asks how things are going, I say fine or good or okay or pretty well, and he says, So what's the problem? Last week, suspecting it was my word choice that tipped him off to my stuck-ness, I said, Great! This is really coming together.
I must have come across as sarcastic.
One day he said something like, Well, I know there's something wrong. I can tell by your face.
The other day at practice, Minnie Militia said that people are always telling her she looks angry when she's skating. Apparently that's just her face. I'm pretty envious.
During a practice scrimmage a few months ago, I got some nice rink rash across the top of my hand, and in the two seconds before I could get off the floor and keep skating, one of the refs called off the jam for injury. I asked her why she called it off since I felt fine and was getting up, and she said my face made her think I'd broken a bunch of bones or something. Little tiny rink rash!
I've been practicing my stoicism for years. Also, my "mean face" for the track. You wouldn't know it, though. My face gives away my true feelings.
"Let the stoics say what they please, we do not eat for the good of living, but because the meat is savory and the appetite is keen." - Ralph Waldo Emerson
I recently started a new job, and a big part of it is using highly sophisticated equipment and software that's not yet particularly intuitive or user-friendly. I've spent hours revising one of the software manuals. I've spent hours trying to use the software to do aforementioned revising. And I've spent hours trying to figure out snags myself.
This is where my face bothers me.
My boss walks into the room, asks how things are going, I say fine or good or okay or pretty well, and he says, So what's the problem? Last week, suspecting it was my word choice that tipped him off to my stuck-ness, I said, Great! This is really coming together.
I must have come across as sarcastic.
One day he said something like, Well, I know there's something wrong. I can tell by your face.
The other day at practice, Minnie Militia said that people are always telling her she looks angry when she's skating. Apparently that's just her face. I'm pretty envious.
During a practice scrimmage a few months ago, I got some nice rink rash across the top of my hand, and in the two seconds before I could get off the floor and keep skating, one of the refs called off the jam for injury. I asked her why she called it off since I felt fine and was getting up, and she said my face made her think I'd broken a bunch of bones or something. Little tiny rink rash!
I've been practicing my stoicism for years. Also, my "mean face" for the track. You wouldn't know it, though. My face gives away my true feelings.
"Let the stoics say what they please, we do not eat for the good of living, but because the meat is savory and the appetite is keen." - Ralph Waldo Emerson
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