New Job, No Jitters
Why is the fear of the unknown so powerful?
I hadn’t been to LAS since I was a Chrysler employee at a conference when transportation to the hotel was coordinated and we wouldn’t leave the casino until it was time to go back to the airport. I arrived by myself without a work bestie to help navigate the red tram vs. the blue tram. Approaching the entrance, suitcase wheeling behind me, my eyes darted looking for signage to direct me. I tried to stay calm outwardly, to hide the internal panic, to project the world traveler persona I thought is the only acceptable way to be at an international airport. The tram, whichever color it was, took me to baggage claim, where I stood in an unexpectedly long line to board the bus to the National lot.
The dealership, guys I haven’t met in person yet, were expecting me an hour from my arrival time. I hadn’t learned yet to wear fashion sneakers on business trips that required air travel, 90% of my job at Mercedes. My toes were pinched in tight high heels that absurdly impair anything but sitting. I hadn’t learned yet that high heels are the biggest scam of the patriarchy that keep women physically restrained, and thus unequal. I shifted back and forth from left foot to right, trying to distribute my weight as if constant movement would somehow expedite time.
Standing in a line roped back and forth like a Disney ride, it was hotter than Hell in the summer. When a breeze lifted the hair off my shoulders it felt like standing in front of a hot, belching oven.
When I scheduled the meeting, I didn’t know I’d have to take a plane to a tram to a bus to get to a car, which is the only way to get around Las Vegas, the only place, though mobile, I’d feel safest and most in control. “I’m going to be so late,” I thought. “How will I explain my incompetence getting around an airport?” It didn’t occur to me to make a up a lie about traffic. Or that I wasn't incompetent, just intolerant of uncertainty.
Intolerance of Uncertainty
Intolerance of Uncertainty, also called IU, perhaps better known as “fear of uncertainty.” Someone who is intolerant of uncertainty can experience anything from anger and resentment to a full blown panic attack at the prospect of an unknown event or environment.
What is it about not knowing what to expect that makes people so fatootsed?
According to a recent research article, “Individuals high in self-reported Intolerance of Uncertainty (IU) tend to view uncertainty as unbearable and stressful. Notably, IU is transdiagnostic, and high levels of IU are observed across many different emotional disorders (e.g., anxiety, depression).” In other words, people with depression, anxiety, and—in my case, chronic daily migraine, are more prone to intolerance of uncertainty.
For me, nothing is worse than meeting someone at a new restaurant and not knowing where to park, or where the rental car lot is at an unfamiliar airport. I hate these open-ended questions that are so variable. Or how about this one: starting a new job not knowing how to do all the basic things, like logging into email, where to eat lunch, learning who is who, and what everyone’s names are. Does even thinking about these examples break you out in a cold sweat? I can feel my heart rate increase as I write these words.
The fear of the unknown holds people back. It can be as small as not ordering a tuna melt when the chicken parm sub is my favorite sandwich at a go-to take out spot. Even though I will fly for work, I refuse to renew my passport, much to my husband, Chad’s, chagrin, because then he would expect me to travel internationally. On one hand, I fantasize about us eating tapas and drinking red wine at 10PM in Barcelona. But on the other side of my dissonance is the abject terror of leaving the home I know extremely well, not knowing the language, not understanding the cultural cues. At least I know to be gregarious in the South, cool and reserved in the Pacific Northwest, and that I can be myself, whoever that is, in the North East where I’m from, the part of the country that raised me. Spain is scary because it’s unfamiliar.
Even flying over the sea to Hawaii makes my breath come in short. What if we have a problem with the plane and land in a foreign country (and I don’t have a passport!)?
I start a new job on Monday and I’m uncharacteristically not nervous about it. People keep asking me, “How was your last week of freedom?” because it’s a valid question, but I don’t view it like that. Maybe it’s because, as the primary parent of a two-year-old, I never feel free. All of my days, even the weekends, are basically the same: wake up, argue about not making chicken nuggets for breakfast, argue about taking some bites, washing hands, washing face, changing diapers and clothes, writing, and generally trying to keep my shit together before it’s time to come up with a way to feed my family dinner and go to bed. There are no late mornings to sleep in or spontaneous afternoons at the beach with a cold bottle of wine. There are no Netflix binges, or movie nights.
New Job
I prefer certainty, the known, the familiar. An airport I’ve been to twice is my happy place. As much as I may hate chronic migraines, depression, and the symptoms they cause, at least I know how to deal with them. None of them are new. But uncertain situations that cause stress, like landing in Las Vegas not knowing where the rental car lot is, or starting at a new job, can trigger anxiety, and stress and anxiety trigger migraines. People with IU avoid unfamiliar situations to avoid stress, since it’s stress that can dust off other symptoms. It’s my fear of pain that drives anxiety associated with unfamiliar circumstances.
Starting a new job is something that everyone can relate to. It’s the same feeling as the first day of school, an internship, a volunteer role, the nerves and jitters that come with learning the way around a new campus, who the major players are and the office politics. It’s why we have things like comfort food and comfort TV: even the biggest daredevil enjoys the comfort of a Downton Abbey-spaghetti binge.
The job I start tomorrow isn’t coming with the normal cache of anxiety. I’ll share more details when it’s officially official, but in the meantime, I can tell you that even though I left the automotive industry in April 2020, the automotive industry did not leave me.
When I told him I wasn’t nervous, Chad, said, “Maybe you’re at peace with it.” Or maybe it’s lacking the uncertainty that would normally send me spiraling down a what-if rabbit hole.
No Jitters
The company offers a product that fills a major gap in automotive retail. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, but didn’t have the capital or resources to build from the ground up. I know that I know how to do this job. It’s a new position in a startup, so I may not hit the ground running, but I will hit it with a smooth walk. At the very least, I’ll stick the landing.
Instead of nervous butterflies flittering about my stomach, I feel confident and assured. I’m not scared of onboarding, it’s something I’ve done before. I don’t know if I’ll take the proverbial red or blue tram to get up and running, but it’ll be a tram and I’ll get there.
Then there’s my boss I'll call Dee, a woman. This will be the first time I’ve had a woman boss in my entire automotive career. (My skip-level at Mercedes-Benz was a woman, and she did, in fact, hire me, however I had little to no interaction with her while employed there.)
When Dee learned I have a two-year-old, she wasn’t immediately turned off. I didn’t get the old questions like, “What if you get pregnant?”; “What if your kid gets sick?”; “How will you balance your job with your family’s needs?” If you are a father, I wonder: has anyone ever asked you these questions at a job interview?
Instead of motherhood raising a red flag like it would to male hiring managers, she understood me. Mothers know how mothers work; not only do they get their jobs done, but they are the hardest working people on the planet. No one works harder than, or is more dedicated than a primary parent who has dozens of obligations outside of the office. When mothers have too much to do, instead of cutting back on their responsibilities, they cut back on personal time and sleep to accommodate the needs of others. Instead of doubting women, women trust each other.1
I would be remiss not to mention the privilege I’ve enjoyed since I left my last automotive job in April 2020. I don’t need this job, rather, I want it. The hiring manager recruited me knowing I’d be a good fit. My husband thinks this is why I’m not nervous, but perhaps that makes the professional stakes even higher. When one does something they want to do, to excel at, to prove themselves, and not because they have no other choice to support their family, it changes the dynamics. This isn’t to say that one is more worthy than the other, or that one should be more nerve-racking, but that they both come with their own profile of agony.
Even though I’ve never worked for a woman in this capacity, it’s far more familiar to work with someone who is a mother like me, than to work for a man who doesn’t value my responsibilities away from the job. I suspect that my new boss trusts that if I have to attend to a sick child, it will not take me away from work, rather I’ll make up the time and then some. Not because employees are not entitled to take care of their family when they are needed, but because I will feel the inherent guilt that women and mothers feel when they are not able to give their full selves to something, which is all the time.
In time, I'll also build a team of direct reports, and I’ll be their woman boss in automotive. I don’t plan to ask men how they will manage their time as a father and employee because it’s not professional—as much as I’d love to see the look on someone’s face when asked. I will, indeed, trust women candidates and employees with the same level that I would trust a man, that is, incomplete and unbiased. And if I ever send someone on a work trip, I will ask them if they’ve ever been to that airport, and if not, I’ll tell them how to get to the National lot.
This essay uses hetero-normative language, but I acknowledge not all mothers identify as women, or are married in general, or to a man. There is plenty of room in this conceit to include all hard-working parents, especially primary-parents who work unpaid labor full-time.