Oh. Boy. Deep breath. These are photos of where my work will be moved to, in about a month. Its a new building in the city, where they are moving several government agencies into one place so we can communicate more efficiently (somehow, perhaps by osmosis since we don't have access to the other floors where the other agencies are, so will just email/phone them as we do now - but anyway that's not for me to make sense of). This is all fine, I don't have a problem with moving, in fact I think in a lot of ways it will be good. There is just one teeny tiny problem with all this: I am afraid of heights and we are going to the 10th floor. Ha!
I wasn't always scared of heights, in fact I used to really love them. I used to like views, and the different perspective you'd get from being somewhere else. I started to get nervous around heights about 10 years ago, but it was easy to shake off as an odd occurrence. Then maybe about five years ago it started to become an Actual Thing. I actually can't remember the first time or location when I started to get really freaked out by heights, but at some point it evolved to a point of panic-inducing, dry retching, jelly legs, sweaty palms, heart racing type of "freaked out".
It doesn't really matter that much in some ways because I never have to go anywhere high on a frequent basis, and on the occasions I have had to, I just clench my teeth, hang in there and leave as soon as I can. There are some places I have become accustomed to avoiding, like say the top floor of department stores, but otherwise it hasn't had any great impact on my life in a practical sense. It has however impacted me a little bit in terms of feeling like a bit of a looser sometimes, but that's a separate story.
Currently I am happily located on the first floor, and every other job I have ever had in my entire life has been on a first or second floor. I've never had to face going to a place like this on a daily basis. I am half sick with dread, and half excited about the challenge and determined to do it.
The lead up to it has been made easier by the fact I work in a really nice place, with great people who are very supportive. Plus, I am trying really hard to think of all the positives - like thank god its not the 22nd floor, or the 30th or 67th or whatever; thank god we have not been relocated to Osborne Park or Welshpool or worse, Bunbury, as some departments have been; working in the city will be great for heaps of reasons; I bet the views will be really pretty at night; its a new building and everything will be clean and not broken (for a little while at least), etc.
One thing I realized for sure about two weeks ago is that I am committed to trying this. We've known about the move for ages and I tried not to worry too much because it seemed so far away and abstract. I just didn't know how I would feel about it until it came closer. I vaguely thought about getting another job somewhere else to avoid having to go, but in the end I decided that was a bad idea because if I let it win now it will always beat me, the bastard. So in my head I have decided to tackle it, fight it, prove it wrong. Once I'd made that decision things seemed heaps easier.
I don't doubt the transition will be tough, and I will have crap days when I think I can't do it. I know I will loose sleep. I know I will sit at my new desk imagining terrible things about fainting and falling and fires and death. But I am prepared for all this nonsense in advance and I think I have a pretty good plan of attack ready. Part of the plan is writing about it here. Somehow I feel like it will help me get a grip on reality when I feel like I am loosing it. I don't know why!
So (deep breath again) bring it on building! We have a date. You're on.