“Continuous improvement is better than delayed perfection.” ~ Mark Twain

Before getting in the car to go to work at this time of the year, I step into the backyard and check on how many morning glories have opened at the break of dawn. At this time of the year they are plentiful, and their colors are somehow richer and deeper, having earned such a flush with the cooler nights. If the temperatures remain cool, and if the day is slightly overcast, they will stay open a little longer- the pay-off for exiting summer even if we wouldn’t have minded extending its stay. I haven’t had to plant new morning glories in years – these continually reseed in abundance – and such persistence and resilience is admirable. There is a lesson in that – in the way that morning glories bloom most prolifically when challenged with poor soil and difficult growing conditions. The greatest show comes from the humblest beginning. In no way do I think that I’m putting on the greatest show, nor did I come from the humblest beginning, but somewhere in between the two I’m finding my way.

As I passed my anniversary with the state of New York last month, I found myself walking right by the very first building in which I worked. I remembered my first days there – how young I was, how nervous I felt, and how hopeful I tried to be. I also recall that, in some aspects, trying on the state worker mantle was a temporary lark in my mind. I had no idea it would turn into an 18-years-and-counting career, and it was better that way. Would I have started it at all if those golden handcuffs were clinking near my ear? I don’t know. But life has a way of unfolding exactly as it should, and my state career would take twists and turns that carved me into a better worker, and in many ways a better person. It would simultaneously challenge and disappoint, bore and surprise, nourish and enrich, inspire and delight – and ultimately lead me on a path that was filled with kindness, connections, loyalty and friendship.

State service and government work are not fields in which I thought I would ever play a part. Neither is Human Resources. The truth is that I’m not the greatest Human Resources person in the world. It is, in many ways, a difficult fit for someone whose natural tendency is to shy away from people and keep to himself. Yet in ways I have only begun to touch upon it has enabled me to expand my comfort zone, to push a little harder to be part of society, and to get closer to people on a broader and more specific scale. It has taught me to be kinder, more patient, and better – especially on those days when I fail a little. Looking back over the past eighteen years of working for New York State, I’m grateful for every twist and turn my path has taken, for all the people I’ve had the good fortune to meet and come to know, and for the chances I’ve been lucky enough to earn and get. Perhaps most importantly, I’m thankful to have reached a point of understanding that a fulfilling career is not about reaching a certain level of accomplishment or salary – it’s about each moment along the way.

I’ve had some wonderful moments… and I’m still looking forward to more.

See also the following:

Confessions of a New York State Worker – Part One

Confessions of a New York State Worker – Part Two

Confessions of a New York State Worker – Part Three

Confessions of a New York State Worker – Part Four

Confessions of a New York State Worker – Part Five

Confessions of a New York State Worker – Part Six

“It is never too late to be what you might have been.” – George Eliot

“Becoming is better than being.” – Carol Dweck

A proper power lunch requires a proper tie.

And a proper location.

A pink polka dot pattern backed with black for the former, and an afternoon reservation at 677 Prime for the latter.

After Marline sent out a feeler of whether or not I’d be interested in coming back to DEC, Sherri and I set up a meeting. Sherri was now the Associate Director, and we were going to talk about what a return might look like – hours and schedules and supervision – as well as catch up because I missed her and hadn’t seen her in a while.

At first I must admit I was not even remotely entertaining a return to DEC, even if it was at a higher grade than what I had left as. I’d made investments in OCFS, on a number of levels, and they had certainly invested in me. When I stepped into that position I did my best to put all my focus and energy on making it the place where I’d build the rest of my career. I took on new assignments without complaint and did whatever was asked, and I got on so well with everyone that it wasn’t a chore and never a bore to come to work. We got through the difficult situations together, usually with a laugh, and I didn’t want to lose that. I’d also seen firsthand the good work the agency did, something we tend to lose sight of when cloistered in our Human Resources tower.

As much as I was committed to OCFS at this point, an offer of earlier hours and a compressed work schedule where I would have every other Friday off, was ultimately a better fit for me and my situation. Sitting down beside Sherri in a booth in the back of 677, we discussed those terms, and when DEC proved amenable to them, I felt it was time to return, despite how difficult it was to come to that decision. In many respects this decision was tougher than leaving DEC, and I spent a few days agonizing over what to do, discussing it with Andy, and making another list of the benefits and drawbacks of all options.

Breaking it to the beloved people at OCFS was one of the sadder things I’ve had to do in my state career, because I wasn’t leaving for any negative reason. I arrived the next day with three bouquets for the inspirational women who had given me such a generous chance. Tonya saw me coming with flowers and knew what was happening; she had been my supervisor and was one of the main reasons I didn’t want to leave. We got along perfectly, and I’d like to think we each brought something new and valuable to each other’s life. (She was also married to a cop so we had a lot in common as well.) Before I left, we had a gathering where they presented me with a box of chocolates – I put on my best game face pretending to be grateful (whose idea was it to get me chocolate?), when they urged me to open it up. I broke through the plastic and lifted the lid to find a bottle of a Tom Ford Private Blend – ‘Oud Fleur’ – because Ginny had gone around and said that’s what I would like (I’d also told her everything that was on a Christmas gift wish list). I came very close to crying as I looked around the room at all the wonderful people I’d come to know and genuinely like. I thought back to one of my first days with Carol, who at the time was about to go out for several weeks and who had left me with this bit of advice: “Do good work.” It was such a simple statement, but what power and grace it held. It would be difficult saying goodbye to my friends at OCFS, but I’m happy to say that we have kept in touch since then.

Returning to DEC, where I had spent the bulk of my state career, felt less like a homecoming and more of a waking from a dream. A very good dream in most ways, and it would take some time to get my DEC legs back again. It was April 2015 and another spring was at hand. In downtown Albany, new restaurants and storefronts had opened up. After winter, everyone seemed to be outside enjoying the sun. The linden trees ripened to darker green and their tightly-bound buds swelled into bloom, trailing sweet perfume all around them. At home, our gardens were renewed as well – I’d discovered the power of judicious editing, and occasionally ruthless pruning, to bring out the importance of space and balance. In many ways, it mirrored the work/lifestyle balance I’d carved out for myself within my state career. The morning glories were back too, winding their way up and through a Korean lilac and some maiden grass. They promised more beauty for later in the summer.

I was now supervising a couple of people, but since I had been away for a year, the transition proved easier than it might have been should I had stayed. Everything works out for a reason. Gaining experience in another office was beneficial in honing my skills in Human Resources. Exposure to other procedural methods enabled me to see things on a grander scale, and it was easier to identify the big picture instead of getting lost in the minutiae of a situation. It was also good for me to see how other agencies operated. Even in the same title, the protocol and processes of what we did differed in many ways – seeing that gave me a greater understanding of the basic tenets of the duties, while also affording a glimpse into different methods of doing things. Being malleable and open to such change is an asset in the ever-evolving world of Human Resources. I must have done a few things well, because I was eventually promoted to an Associate Director Human Resources 1, something I could not have foreseen even if others claim they could.

Having a good friend as a supervisor doesn’t work for everyone, but it works especially well for me: Sherri is one the main reasons I wanted to return to DEC and she makes every day that much better. I thought back to our reunion lunch, and how I could just about begin to make out the vague outline of us ending out our careers together – and there’s something incredibly gratifying about that. The office is less lonely whenever I think of it. It’s also a place where new people have arrived and become part of our tapestry, adding their own shades and nuances, their own characters and natures, and we are lucky to be in a group where everyone gets along and likes one another. That’s not present in every office, and I consider us very fortunate in that respect.

While I don’t talk much about my state career here on this blog, it’s become something of which I’m proud and protective. Is this the dream job I would have envisioned for myself when I graduated from Brandeis and thought I wanted to be a writer for a living? No, it’s not that dream job – it’s a different dream job, made so by the good people who have populated my state journey over the years. And sometimes you have to make new dreams.

A little while after I started working for the state, someone described the ‘state slump’ – the way that after a certain number of years of working, people got this downtrodden slump in their walk and demeanor, a wearing down of enthusiasm and hope manifested in physical form. I’ve seen that in people. It’s not uncommon. But there are also those who never lose that sparkle, who keep a certain spring to their step, for whom every day is a new opportunity to do something worthwhile, to do something that might make the world, in however small a way, a bit better.

After almost two decades in the state work force, I’ve come to understand that this is a choice, and it’s a choice each of us makes every single day. The choice of whether to participate and be a part of life, to engage and make yourself part of the story, or the choice to go dark and apathetic, to distance and dismiss the opportunity to join in this strange, wonderful and surprisingly enriching journey. It is, and always has been, what we will make of it. The people who forget that they have that choice are the ones who seem the most miserable. I have days when I fail to see it, when I disappoint myself in getting bogged down with bureaucracy and red tape and rules that feel designed to impede progress. And at those times it’s best to slow down, take a moment to relax and recover, then go at it from a different angle and a new perspective. So much of an eventual good decision can be based on not deciding in that instant.

One of the best things I’ve learned over the years is that it is the process that is the most important part of the work, particularly in Human Resources, where we don’t always see the end results of our labors. We work our behind-the-scenes magic so that others may put on the show. For an introverted extrovert, that may be the ideal place for me, and after almost two decades of this journey, I’m finally beginning to see that.

“Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world.” – Harriet Tubman

{See Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four and Part Five.}

“There is no time for cut-and-dried monotony. There is time for work. And time for love. That leaves no other time.” – Coco Chanel

After almost ten years as a Personnel Administrator, Grade 18, I was on the list for the Associate Personnel Administrator, Grade 23. It was 2014, and I thought back to when I started with the state. To be honest, I never saw myself making it into a Grade 18 position, much less anything beyond. When I started as a Data Entry Machine Operator – what was then a Grade 5 position – I was just glad to be employed with a few good benefits. In some ways, that was the best attitude to maintain. Without any grandiose goals of managing or moving up, I was able to simply enjoy and do good work at whatever grade level I was able to obtain. I did what I could do to advance whenever possible, but I wasn’t ambitious to the extent that failing to move forward would upset me in any deep way. Still, with scant promotional offerings in my section and my time on the promotional eligible list running out, I took the first chance to interview for an Associate Personnel Administrator when other agencies began sending me canvass letters. Knowing that a canvass letter was probably just a formality, and that agencies had their own promotional lists to go through first, I really didn’t think much of it until I was contacted for the interview.

It was a winter afternoon when I walked into the Office of Children and Family Services – OCFS. The last remnants of dirty snow lined the sidewalk leading into the office, but the sun was shining, just on the verge of going down. A little early, I waited in the interview room, where the vestiges of paper plates and crumbs betrayed a birthday or some other celebration. It was later in the afternoon, and the place felt very still and quiet. That boded well for me. I would rather have quiet and calm than bustle and excitement. I looked out the window at the world in late winter. Grays and browns stretched all the way to the Hudson River. Beyond was my office building. The sun lowered itself in the sky and I followed its elongating shadows in the room. Waiting there, I had a profound feeling that this was it, that something was about to change for me that day. It was the same eerie notion I got while waiting for my first interview at Structure back when I was in college and looking for a part-time job. Call it a premonition, or just a sense that something new was afoot, I embraced the notion that some adventure was about to begin.

Three women merrily broke the silence as they entered the room and introduced themselves: Tonya, Carol and Mary. Of them, Carol did the most talking and seemed to take the lead. As the Director, Mary hung elegantly back, but when she did talk I thought she was hilarious. Tonya was all smiles and very welcoming, and I instantly felt I could work well with all of them. Interviews never made me very nervous – a strange blip in my otherwise-socially-anxious baseline. This interview was thoroughly enjoyable, and though I knew they were considering other candidates, I was honest and thoughtful in what I said, readily offering that I hadn’t spent my whole state career doing personnel work, and I would need a certain amount of training to reach the level of expertise required for a proper Associate level. At this point in my career, I found it best to be upfront and honest – and really, that’s worked for every stage of my employment. Even if it doesn’t always paint you as the candidate who has the most experience, people will appreciate honesty.

After such a good talk, it suddenly felt like I might be on the verge of being offered the position. Still, I had another interview lined up at another agency, so I went ahead with that because nothing in the state is guaranteed until you see it in writing. Also, it’s a good idea to take any interview in which you may be the least bit interested. The best way to improve your interview skills is to go on interviews and practice. At this second interview, I also had an enjoyable experience, but it was a case of a personal connection with the interviewers rather than a feeling of promise and hope that I’d gotten at OCFS. The other agency was a relatively young one, and it was described by its own employees as chaotic and difficult – never a good sign. The amount of hiring they were about to be doing also sounded ominous, and while coming in at the ground level of an operation is one way to have a hand in designing things to your specifications and preference, it is more often than not a position of flux and instability. That’s not a good scene for a Virgo. After the interview they made the first job offer to me, and I accepted – even if I really wanted the position at OCFS more. You don’t turn down a solid opportunity for the possibility of a chance at another. Luckily enough, a few days later OCFS made an offer, and I happily accepted. I brought a bouquet of flowers to the agency I now had to turn down, because the people I had met there were nice, and one never knows when our paths might cross again. That lesson is an important one: don’t ever burn bridges – there’s never a need for that. The person you’re brusquely ignoring one moment may be the one who’s interviewing you the next year. It’s another reminder to treat everyone with respect and care.

Upon receiving the offer from OCFS, I had to do some soul-searching. I’d spent more time at DEC than at all my other state positions combined. It would be a difficult move, a daunting move, but I was a different person than the one who walked tentatively into the Department of State a decade and a half ago. I talked it over at length with Andy, and actually made a list of the benefits and drawbacks of staying and leaving. In the end, I took the promotion, and the chance, and didn’t look back until I was across the Hudson River and happily ensconced in my new office near the train station.

Starting all over again in a new job when you’re almost forty years old can be a scary thing, yet this was the quickest and easiest assimilation into a new office I’d had. There was no frightening waiting period when I wondered if I would find a friend, no crippling worry over feeling comfortable. Maybe I was comfortable enough in my own skin and genuinely confident in what I could do that the old trepidation fostered by insecurity didn’t rear its head anymore. I felt like an accepted part of the office immediately, and while they had their minor squabbles, I loved everyone there. I still hang out with a couple of them to this day.

My supervisor Tonya was amazing, the director Mary was an impeccably-attired dynamo, and Carol and Ginny trained me from the ground up with patience and good humor that made coming to work less of a chore and more of a goal. There was much to learn – every agency does things differently, and while the rules and laws governing our hiring process are the same, the interpretation and methods to enact them can vary widely. Additionally, each agency has its own culture and atmosphere. While DEC had a noble mission, it wasn’t necessarily a human-services-oriented one. At OCFS, there was a welcoming warmth that mirrored their own mission to serve the children and families of the state of New York. There was a discernible difference in talking to the employees. It wasn’t that one was better or friendlier than the other – they were just markedly distinct, and it would take a while to relax into their system.

The days ticked by – the rush of spring into summer – and then the weeks followed suit. Our backyard had gone through several years of growth since I started working at the state, and in some spaces it was overgrown. We chopped down a cherry tree that had become much too unruly, and thinned out the ever-growing clumps of cup plants and miscanthus. Through it all, the morning glories continued to reseed themselves from that first sprinkling of seeds I made when we initially moved into the house. During this time, I acclimated myself to OCFS. By fall, I felt like an integral part of their team, almost like I had been there for my entire career. Learning new things at every turn, I felt the jolt of the challenge at hand, which included new supervisory responsibilities. OCFS had an amazing Supervisory Institute – in-depth, meaningful, intense, challenging, and ultimately rewarding and effective. It was there that I learned the importance of meetings with staff – not wasteful in time, frequency or duration – but meetings which offered each person an opportunity to address any work issues that they had. I learned that good supervisors didn’t refer to those who reported to them as ‘subordinates’ – a term that always irked me – but rather as ‘direct reports’ which was a more accurate name. (No one was above or below anyone, no matter what their title or grade level.) I learned the value of keeping records to evaluate one’s direct reports, because when it came time for the annual performance evaluation you would want to look back at those notes no matter how good your memory may be. Perhaps most important of all were the lessons in effective communication – both in having difficult conversations and stepping back to evaluate your own style, and deficiencies, of how we interact with others. Those lessons didn’t only benefit my work life, but bled into personal improvement as well.

During my time there, and in many of the meetings I had with those who reported to me, I would routinely hear their incredulous view of what one person called my ‘Zen-like’ ability to remain calm and not get annoyed or rattled or upset by something that just happened in the office. In truth, that was not something that I learned in any training course – my baseline level of comportment at work is a cool and somewhat aloof mode of stoic acceptance. I’ve simply never seen the benefit of getting bent out of shape or making a scene in the office. (Andy and certain family members may very well disagree, but homelife is a different series of blog posts.) At work, I strive to err on the side of professional detachment.

That said, there was a growing fondness I felt toward everyone in that office, even as the later hours and lack of a compressed work schedule began to eat into my creative endeavors. As much as I was becoming a part of OCFS, and as much affection as I held for everyone in that office, there was a part of me that realized there’s something to be said for days off and earlier hours, and an agency that provides such flexibility. I may not have any children, but I have a husband who has his own health issues, an aging set of parents that I try to see as much as possible, and a niece and nephew who aren’t always free on weekends. At around that same time, I heard from my old DEC office that there was now an opening for an Associate Personnel Administrator, and if I wanted to come back there might be an opportunity. It wasn’t part of my plan – I had fully invested and become a part of my OCFS office – so much so that I was already planning on hosting the retirement party for one of our co-workers. More touching was the fact that I felt such affection was genuinely reciprocated, and it was one of the first times I felt truly valued by an agency.

As winter limped away, the snow by the river dissipated. Once again, the DEC building shone in the distance with its glass dome like some sparkling denizen of the Emerald City. It beckoned to me, at first with a whisper, and then a missive from Marline. If there was one person who could be counted on for sage advice, it was her, and if she was putting forth the idea of my returning to DEC, that held a powerful meaning. 

{See Part One, Part Two, Part Three and Part Four.}

“No work is insignificant. All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence.” – Martin Luther King Jr.

November 2004: It was the evening of the Beaujolais Nouveau Wine Celebration that benefited what was then the AIDS Council of New York (now the Alliance for Positive Health). Andy and I had been attending this event religiously since the days when it was first held at the Franklin Plaza in Troy, which is where it was on that fateful evening. I paired a jacket of black velvet and a frilly white shirt with faded jeans, then slipped on a fuchsia silk tie and pinned a chameleon made of crystals in the middle of it. This was a casual year for me. (I used to alternate between fancy and casual for this event, and the casual years were always more fun, and way more comfortable.) At such ease, I flitted about the party, talking to various people I’d come to know over the years. After half a decade in Albany, one gets to know many of its denizens. This is a small town.

Giddy off the martinis and the kick-off to the holiday season, I was talking to Jim again – who was fittingly one of the first people to coax me into a state career – when he mentioned that his friend Marline worked in Personnel at the Department of Environmental Conservation and I should talk to her about any possible jobs. I was at a party and didn’t really care to discuss work, but Jim was a good person who surrounded himself with good friends, so when he pointed her out to me I marched right over and plopped down in the seat next to her, introducing myself. She seemed a little taken aback, as most people do when I’m feeling bold enough to make such an introduction, then settled in with her glass of wine and we talked as if we’d known each other for years. I didn’t think much of it until a few months later when she was looking to fill a Secretary 1 position at her agency.

It was early spring of 2005. I’d just taken the Professional Careers Test for ‘professional’ level positions if you had a bachelor’s degree, and I’d scored 100 – a necessity to be canvassed, since so many people took that test. It was the first chance I’d had to take an exam for a Grade 18 position, and I was just beginning to get canvass letters back. I also understood the grinding halts that often accompanied advancing in a state career, so I remained on the look-out for a promotion, and when a Secretary 1 position opened up, I applied for a transfer.

It was not directly in her office, it was for the Office of Affirmative Action, and it would entail working with a supervisor who was, as Marline put it, someone I was either going to love or hate. Shrugging off those fateful words, I scheduled an interview, for practice and possibility, as I had just turned down an offer as a Budget Analyst – Grade 18 – at a different agency based on the frightening stories of tax season and all that would be required of me. (It wasn’t so much the hours and stress that scared me away, but the idea of doing budget work. That’s not in my wheelhouse.) But Affirmative Action was something I could do. At least, I thought it was.

[Today the term Affirmative Action is rife with conflicted interpretation and controversy, but when you understand and hear the history of why we have it (which is not a lesson I’m going to impart right now) you have a greater appreciation for it. I had an excellent Social Studies teacher in 11^thgrade who impelled its importance on a level that was simple, powerful, and stays with me to this day. Now we have terms such as Diversity and Inclusion to more accurately reflect the changing role of its function.]

Far more than doing something meaningful, however, was the chance for a promotion, and once again I was contemplating a move to another agency to make that happen.

I drove downtown on a sunny day in April. The leaves had just started coming out in bright shades of chartreuse and lime, and I parked across the street from the DEC building. I remembered this area from my first job at the Department of State. It felt so long ago, but in reality it had only been a few years. I was back in downtown Albany and something felt right.

Marline met me in the lobby then brought us up to the 10^thfloor. We went into an enclave and waited for the man who would be my supervisor to join us. Juan burst in and proceeded to regale us with colorful tales of his life in coarse, familiar language. He was a character to be sure, but one whom I could enjoy. In many respects he reminded me of my crazy, and favorite, Uncle. Marline was a little hesitant, unsure whether I would be able to handle or put up with him, I couldn’t tell which, but I already knew I could work with Juan, and a few weeks later they offered me the job.

As Juan’s Secretary 1, I watched, studied, and figured out the best ways to handle the responsibilities of the position. Guided mainly by Marline, I learned the job duties, but mostly I learned how to deal with one of the most complex, challenging, and at times infuriating characters to cross my state path. His one saving grace, that forgave a lot of personal issues, was that he truly cared about his job, about ensuring that every single person was afforded an opportunity to excel at their employment, and that we all had an equal chance for that. He fought for such above all else, and there was, and is, a nobility and honor in that which nothing else can touch. Oddly enough, I got on quite well with him, partly because I wouldn’t tolerate his nonsense and antics, and up until the end I’d like to think that we carefully guarded a mutual sense of respect and admiration for each other.

Juan taught me many things – more often than not it was about what I didn’t want to be, but there’s a valuable lesson in that too. I kept my head down and did the best job I could, and a few weeks into the job, someone found out I was on the Professional Careers list and proposed putting me into a Senior Personnel Administrator traineeship – which would lead to a grade 18 Senior Personnel Administrator position. I’d still be working with Juan, but gradually shift into more Human Resources-oriented work.

The summer of 2005 was big for me. I’d just turned 30 years old, I’d been promoted to a ‘professional’ position, and I was at an agency I not only enjoyed, but of which I could be proud. (You don’t usually find that kind of pride at Tax and Finance.) I would stay at DEC for almost ten years – longer than all my other state jobs put together. If I had to consider a single agency as my home, the Department of Environmental Conservation would be it. Along with Marline, I made a number of other good friends who became much more than co-workers: Sherri, Lorie, Sue, Doris – and I genuinely enjoyed the company of every single person in our Personnel office. That kind of situation is rare, and I felt extremely lucky to have found such a home. There’s just one thing about being home: sooner or later most of us have to leave at some point… even when you’re almost 40.

As the seasons and the years passed, other people around me advanced and got promoted, and while I was doing all that was asked of me, I became complacent and perhaps too comfortable. It was difficult to find things to do that would set me apart and justify a promotion. I had been at DEC for many years, and the thought left me feeling accomplished, but also somewhat unfinished. A change was in the air – it felt like fall in a certain way – and I watched the shift of afternoon light, the tilt of the sun, and the fiery leaves of the trees. Once again, it was time to move on…

“For what it’s worth: it’s never too late to be whoever you want to be. I hope you live a life you’re proud of, and if you find you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start over again.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald

{See Part One, Part Two and Part Three.}

“This is the real secret of life – to be completely engaged with what you are doing in the here and now. And instead of calling it work, realize it is play.” ~ Alan Watts

In April of 2004, the Office of Mental Health was located on Holland Avenue, near the sprawling premises of Albany Med. I was contacted for an interview with the training division, which was not in the main office building. Located in a dark lower corner of the Capital District Psychiatric Center (picture netting over places where someone might be able to jump, and a lock-down security system that required a pass to open every door), it was quite a change of pace from the quiet Thruway office. Andy somewhat jokingly worried/hoped that they might mistake me for a patient and keep me there. I didn’t mind any of it – there was covered parking, with a completely covered walkway to go into the building. Never again would I have to clean snow off the car or burn my ass on leather that had baked in the blazing sun of July on a field of asphalt for eight hours.

In a padded, circular room, I was interviewed by the woman who would be my supervisor, Suzanne. We clicked immediately, and it impressed upon me the importance of an interview. In almost every instance of being offered an interview, I would be offered a job. In many of these cases I didn’t have the exact experience or background that was being sought, but I conveyed that I could learn, and that I could get along with people. That has always been more important than finding someone who knows absolutely everything about what they will be doing, and I was lucky that most people saw that and understood. Almost every single awful office situation I’ve encountered has been caused by difficult people, not by people who didn’t know what they were doing.

My would-be supervisor Suzanne was quirky, friendly, and ready to laugh. She had bright eyes that sparkled with a sense of mischief, and she was warm-hearted and generous. I felt safe around her, as well as entertained. She was a convivial trainer, engaging and gregarious, and as long as she was my supervisor I knew the job would be ok. This points out the importance of supervision: a supervisor can make or break someone’s career. A couple of days later they called and offered me the position – a Keyboard Specialist 2 – Grade 9. I was moving up in the state world at last! It wasn’t swift, but I took as many exams as I could. It was enough to be employed and contributing to the mortgage, and I was also building a retirement and gaining other benefits. Boring stuff at the time, but I knew it would be a good thing in the long run, should I be lucky enough to last.

My first greeting in the psych center was by a gruff bald guy with a familiar gravelly voice that I couldn’t quite place, but was certain I knew. He introduced himself as Joe, then came closer to whisper in my ear, “It’s Hazel, you asshole!” to reveal himself as the Empress of Albany. He was my favorite drag queen – one of the original mothers of the Albany drag queen circuit, and I was so relieved to see someone I knew that I immediately felt at home. Quickly, I made friends with the woman working next to me, Tina, and then Kate. Friends came faster now, and for the first time I didn’t do my usual panic calculation of how long it had taken me to be at ease in other jobs.  

On the nice days when spring led into summer, we would take lunch breaks and walk along New Scotland Avenue, grabbing pizza at The Fountain or getting subs at one of the local Italian delis that lined the street. When the weather was rainy, we would take the walkway to the cafeteria at Albany Med, joining the throngs of students and medical staff that populated the busy lunch hour. It was a good location, and even better than that it was, for the most part, a good office in which to work. I proved myself a decent performer, and when an opportunity to travel to Brooklyn for a training conference came along, they offered some of the administrative tasks to me, and I got to take a train and book a hotel for the event. Prior to this, I hadn’t given much thought or care to what I wore to work. {Pause for shock and awe.} My idea of casual wear was khakis and a sweater, which put me eons ahead of the majority of the state work force. For this event, when I’d be representing our office in public, I put on an olive-hued suit, a white shirt, and a burgundy tie. My co-workers had never seen me dress up quite that much, and I did so well (inadvertently impressing some apparently-important people) that their surprise at my ability had me wondering what kind of loser they thought I was before that day. There was a lesson in that too: I learned the importance of dressing up for the job, even when it wasn’t necessary.

People always say to dress for the job you want to have, and I always dismissed the notion as so much silly nonsense. Spoiler alert: it’s not. As much as I like to dress up, underneath it all I’ve always believed that each of us has the right to wear whatever the hell we want to wear. The idea of appropriate attire is a social construct that I played with and ultimately railed against, but on that day of the conference, with a new attendant respect and admiration, I realized the power of appearance. While I will always believe in the right of self-expression, I suddenly realized there was a game to play as well, and if you knew how to play the game without sacrificing yourself, you could use it to your advantage. People who rebel simply because they can never go very far. My office attire got a more professional revamping after that, and the result was a boon to my own confidence, and a boost in my happiness, all of which led to greater bonhomie within my work unit. 

My years of retail had shaped what limited people skills I had, and they seemed to be working. At least, I think I was getting better at it. My strength was in being entertaining and humorous, while also being reliable and loyal. I was punctual (actually, I was most often early) and I didn’t abuse my vacation time. More important than these traits, however, was the fact that I could get along with just about everybody. I may play a cantankerous grumpy guy, but beneath it all, when it really counts, people seemed to enjoy my presence. That goes much further than exemplary excellence in a refined niche. To this day, I would rather hire someone who can get on well with others than someone who knows everything inside and out but is miserable to be around.

I got to know the group at the Office of Mental Health better at a few outside gatherings. This was another office populated almost entirely by women (and a drag queen) and with it came its own set of dramas and issues. Again, I managed to skirt most of them, and if there were times when I delved into the drama, it was my own choice. My comfort level with an office grew quicker here, or maybe I was just becoming more comfortable with myself. This was also the first time since my days in retail and John Hancock where my co-workers became friends whom I saw outside of work. That could come with its own stickiness, but I managed to avoid those dramas, even as they would occasionally stir storms around me.

Still, as much as I enjoyed the people there, a promotion did not seem to be on the horizon, so I kept my eyes and ears open for whatever the universe was nudging me towards. At the start of that year’s holiday season – November of 2004 – I sent up a few flares at a party that would change my life and turn my job at the state of New York into an actual career…

{See Part One and Part Two.}

“I don’t like work – no man does – but I like what is in the work: the chance to find yourself. Your own reality – for yourself not for others – what no other man can ever know. They can only see the mere show, and never can tell what it really means.” – Joseph Conrad

It was at another party – a clear indication of the value of social networking – where I spoke with our friend Paul about getting out of the Department of State into any other agency, and he said his friend at the Thruway Authority was looking for a Keyboard Specialist. I had an interview in a few weeks, and since my score was immediately reachable I was able to transfer before my first year at the Department of State was up.

It was April 2002 and the spring seemed a fitting time to begin another new position. I went from an office filled almost entirely with women to an office filled almost entirely with men. I was told that the differences between working with women versus men were severe, but I scoffed at such a notion, dismissing it as a piece of antiquated artificial social construction that at best was ignorant and, at worst, blatantly sexist. Here, the guys had their disagreements, but they had them out before quickly, and genuinely, moving on. There wasn’t a secret passive-aggressive agenda lurking beneath their every interaction, and when there was disagreement or drama it was dealt with head-on and finished. I fought against these stereotypical notions, as they mostly came from other people, but I did notice discernible differences, and not only because of gender.

This office was much more quiet. Eerily quiet, which for me was a beautiful thing. Ensconced across the street from the main Thruway Authority building, our little Office of Construction and Contracts was in a satellite station that had its own parking within thirty feet of the door.

That meant I could drive myself to work.

There was a new independence in that. I look back and think how young I was then – even if I already felt old – only twenty-six and on my second state job. Was that good or bad? Oprah once said when she started out that if she was making her age (in thousands of dollars) she felt she was doing ok. I was just about there, but I was still scared.

The same fear and trepidation and social anxiety that marked the first days at every job I’d held accompanied me here. I’d just made a few friends at the Department of State, just started to feel comfortable in my surroundings, and now I had to start all over again. I played the time calculation game I usually played, trying to figure out how many days and weeks it would take to feel comfortable again, how long it took the last time, and what the estimated time of ease in this job would arrive.

Luckily, I adored my new supervisor Clarice from our first moments working together. She was all business up front, but I learned if I could break through and make her laugh, she opened up into a warm and hilarious woman. We made a good team, keeping things organized and running smoothly, and it was a lesson in how the clerical support team really ran the basic functions of an office.

A few bad state workers have given the whole lot of us a bad name over the years, but in my growing experience with the state I was finding out that most of the people wanted to do good work, and make a difference in whatever office they were in. They took pride in their work and wanted to contribute. For someone that considered office work solely as a means to pay our mortgage, this was a revelation, and I began to develop a profound respect for all kinds of state work. When an opening for a support person opened up in the office next door in my same title, Clarice pushed me to make it my own. About a year had passed since I first took the job at the Thruway Authority. Another spring was at hand, and outside the land was shaking free of winter. It was planting season, and at our new house I sprinkled a handful of morning glory seeds into the ground. This was a serene and calm point in our lives, even with new work moves afoot. The morning glories would sprout and wind their way up and along a new wooden fence that lined the pool. Spring slipped into summer garb, and seasons passed.

There was a little wooded area near our office building, and at lunch I would walk and examine the plants that were once again coming to life. Summer bloomed into fall, and as the morning glories went to seed, the sky deepened and the goldenrod began its bloom. It was emblematic of the peaceful time I was enjoying at the job, made more-so by a move to a new desk and new director, Pete.

Pete was one of the best people I have ever worked for, and not only because he taught me how to properly decorate a Christmas tree with lights (from the trunk outward). His daughter Kristi worked for the Times Union and would often call, which is how I got to meet her. She and her Mom also attended the holiday lunch that Pete put on every year, carrying in crock pots and hot plates and all sorts of good stuff. Despite being different in many areas (he towered at least two feet above me and loved golf) Pete shared my life-view on a number of unlikely things. (We both preferred drumsticks to wings when it came to Buffalo chicken, for example.) He supervised with a light touch, and things in his office worked out with relative ease. Affable yet effective, he ran an office that respected him, and I learned that being genial could be as powerful as being stern when it came to supervising people.

As much as I loved it there, I was already on the eligible list for a promotion, and I had managed to squeak out another reachable score for the Keyboard Specialist 2 exam. Another spring arrived – the spring of 2004 – and my state career was about to land me right in the Capital District Psychiatric Center, but not as a patient as Andy always feared (hoped?)…

{See Part One.}

“Each man had only one genuine vocation – to find the way to himself… His task was to discover his own destiny – not an arbitrary one – and to live it out wholly and resolutely within himself. Everything else was only a would-be existence, an attempt at evasion, a flight back to the ideals of the masses, conformity and fear of one’s own inwardness.” – Herman Hesse

The year was 2001.

The season was summer – late summer.

The world as we once knew it was about to change forever.

The morning of August 30 dawned in slightly foggy form. The morning glories I had trained onto Andy’s house didn’t know whether to open or close, confused as to whether the day was ending or beginning. These morning glories would greet me faithfully for those first few weeks of work. They would also follow us – or rather we would bring them along – when we moved to our first home together. I loved their resilience, the way they bloomed even more the worse you treated them, the less you pampered them.

Andy pulled the car out and I paused in the driveway, taking a deep breath before my first day at a new job. In one hand I held a folder of various documents and a pen, in my other was a lunch that Andy had made. I didn’t even have a work bag then. But I’m getting ahead of myself. The start of a new job doesn’t usually happen on the first day at work. It begins weeks and months before that…

It actually started, as so many fortuitous things did in those days, at a party at Rob’s. New to Andy, new to Albany, and relatively new to the shark-accented social circles that the gay world at the turn of the millennium provided, I was a novice to most everything. Back then I thought all the gay couples we met would stay together, and I looked up to them as role models. Would Andy and I stay together for a year? Two? Little did I know then that the window I saw before me was a temporary and disappointingly minor slice of our lives. None of those other couples would last, which made me thankful to be in the realm of casual friendship with all involved.

It was New Year’s Eve. The vodka and cranberry was overflowing from my red solo cup, people wore paper hats and glasses shaped like ‘2001’, and the mood was celebratory and cozy near the fire. I was talking with Jim, who was one of the friendliest (and most drama-free) of the new people I met through Andy. Somehow we got to talking about employment and suddenly they were printing out the application for the New York State Civil Service Test for Keyboard Specialist. I filled it out right then and there, and stuffed it in an envelope. The seeds of my state career had been planted, and as we counted down to the exit of another year, 2001 dawned to cheers and kisses and hope on a chilly wind.

The exam was a piece of cake. I took it in Amsterdam since that was still technically my residence in upstate New York. Then there was one last summer of freedom, spent with Andy between Albany and Boston. The gears of the state moved then, as they often do now, at an infuriatingly-glacial-like pace. It would be months before the results were in, but once I received my score of 100, the canvass letters began to pour in. Foolishly, because I didn’t know any better, I took the first one that was offered – a Data Entry Machine Operator, even in the face of others that would have brought me up to a Grade 9 after a year. Such was my early ignorance of the Civil Service system. I took the Grade 5 position and moved forward without question. Those mis-steps and mistakes would ultimately serve me well, as I learned first-hand what it was like to be a state employee, and all the accompanying Civil Service laws that went with it. When I would eventually swerve into the Human Resources lane, I’d have invaluable experience and first-hand knowledge under my belt. I didn’t know that then, so I felt the same frustration and confusion that many people new to state service feel.

The Department of State, then located at the corner of State Street and Broadway in downtown Albany, did something with licenses as far as I could tell. (Hint to other would-be employees: research and look into wherever you may be interviewing – it impresses almost everyone and you end up looking less like an idiot than I did.) Andy thought I would like it downtown, where there were more things to do within walking distance during the day than in the sprawling suburbia of Guilderland. The history and older buildings did appeal to me, hinting at what I loved so much about Boston, albeit on a much smaller and less grand scale. They folded up the sidewalks after 5 PM, but we would be back on the road by that time.

My first supervisor was named Mary Beth. She was a quiet and kind woman, younger than the stereotypical state worker I had in my mind. With hair puffed up in front and feathered on the sides, her head was stuck in the 80’s but she knew her job and work. The woman who headed up our unit – something to do with licensing that I never quite could piece together, even after working there for a few months – was named Joan. She was, to put it politely, awful. These two extremes, Mary Beth and Joan, initiated me into the wildly-vacillating nature of state work.

Joan was wicked in almost every way. She had thick coke-bottle glasses, an equally thick frame, and dry patches on her arms that flaked off when she scratched them, which was often. She had a pillow on her chair, presumably to ease the pain of being such a pain in the ass, and everyone hated her. She was especially cruel to the guy who I sensed was disabled in some way. He was always kind and kept to himself, but she would go after him for the littlest things. He was one of the only other men in the office, which at first I loved, because I always seemed to get on better with women than men, but soon learned to loathe when it became apparent that this was not some dreamy Barbizon scene with people preening like decorative peacocks. Or maybe it was, given the nasty nature I’m told peacocks have.

Whether it was my maleness or naive ignorance that acted as a shield, I managed largely to avoid the drama and in-fighting that soon revealed themselves after a honeymoon of a few hours. Factions took up against factions, and friendliness was less an act of good-nature and more likely a planned alliance for a battle to come. It was stressful, even for someone who mostly steered clear of all the drama, but I befriended a couple of women who allowed me to join them on their smoke breaks (even if I didn’t smoke) – they found my use of big words entertaining, even if they didn’t know what I was saying half the time. They introduced me to more people, and within a couple of months I felt at home. It would be one of my strengths: endearing myself to an office and acting as a social lubricant. People seemed to get a kick out of me, and I proved myself a reliable worker who was on time, dependable, and did as he was told without question or challenge. (And some, I’m sure, found me annoying and obnoxious as hell. It takes all kinds.)

Despite my growing friendships with a few co-workers, there are toxic workplaces that can’t be easily fixed. Thanks to the agitated shadow that Joan threw over the place, and the gossipy groups that were constantly pitting people against each other, as well as a growing understanding of having to look at possible promotional opportunities, I knew it was time to seek out other options. The winding road of my state career was about to take its first major turn…

{To be continued.}