And now it's November

I used to think that a year was a long time. When I graduated from college, I didn’t want to commit to more than a year in any one place. I was going to spend time doing voluntary service, "but only for a year!" When that fell through, I was going to work as a secretary: "I can do it for a year."

I didn’t want to limit my options, didn’t want to be confined, didn’t want to commit to anything I might not like for any real length of time. And I’ve heard similar sentiments from more recent college graduates. But, FYI: a year is not a long time AT ALL.

I suppose, if you are in a hellish situation, a year might be a nightmare. Or if you’re counting down to something great at the end of it, a year might seem long. But even the most boring, blah situations turn into two or three years before you even realize it (i.e. my secretary job. I really wish I had been blogging then, though. Endless stories about high school hijinks to brighten my writing).

At the end of this month, I will have been at my "new" job for six months. Half of a year. There are now four (soon to be five or six) people in the department newer than me. Insanity.

I remember this time last year vividly, and it doesn’t seem possible that twelve months have come and gone since then, although plenty of stuff has happened, new job included.

Maybe I still feel like a year SHOULD be a long time, and that’s why I’m continually surprised when it’s not.