I couldn’t wait to be promoted. I had imagined the scenario in my head so many times. My boss would pretend it was a regular one-to-one, but then start off by telling me about all the things I’ve accomplished over the past few years. She would tell me my new title, my new salary, and we would talk about the vision of the group. I would cry, we would hug, and she would give me a very expensive bottle of sparkling wine.
Then I’d run back to my office and call all my friends. They would be so impressed. I would call my parents. They would be so proud. I would come home to a bottle of bubbly being chilled in the refrigerator with my husband standing there, waiting to congratulate me. He would already have our two favorite “special occasion” wine glasses out and ready to be filled. I would feel good about my accomplishments and relish in all the glory that was coming my way.
The day came when my boss did tell me I was promoted. This meeting was supposed to happen one year earlier, but the process had to be approved by several levels of management and with everything else in Corporate America, it took longer than expected. I did cry, but it was tears of exhaustion. The meeting quickly ended after the standard congratulatory exchanges and I was on my way to the airport for a much-needed one-month sabbatical. I called my friend, Lynn, also newly promoted, and told her what had happened. She barely acknowledged my promotion and was more concerned about the other organizational changes happening. I called my parents and, while excited, they exclaimed, “You are doing so well in PR!” (They don’t realize that one letter in the acronym makes for a completely different career, but that’s a detail they don’t think is important.)
My dad went on to tell me that the most important thing is that I’m happy. Well, yes, but being promoted is pretty cool, too! I was thankful that I could count on my husband to make a big deal out of this much-anticipated moment. He is, after all, one of my biggest supporters and fans. I pictured us meeting at the Philadelphia airport and sharing a bottle of bubbly together—trying to keep at least part of my fantasy alive. I landed in Philadelphia and got a text message saying, “Mechanical errors on plane—will meet you in Munich.” CRAP! Now I can’t even tell him for another fifteen hours since I wanted to tell him in person. Should I buy myself a drink?
The airport bar was filled with men watching a football game, so I called my sister instead. She congratulated me—not on the promotion but for getting the holiday package there two weeks before Christmas! So this is it—this is life. This is what the gurus mean when they say that we need to be present to the daily journey since the destination is never what we expect or imagine. I did buy a glass of wine for myself and it was the best wine I’ve had in a long time. Cheers to me.
