Keep Moving Forward, and Other Things I've Learned I'm Doing.

Two things happened to me today --  I had my mid-year review, and I saw someone I knew at the grocery store.

Now, you're probably wondering why or how those two things are related, so let me back up.

I don't actually know the person I saw at the grocery store. It was the cashier who rang out my groceries. I don't know him, but I recognized him. The last time I was at this particular store, he was the one who rang me out.

The only reason I remember this is because I happened to be wearing a large, distinctive cameo necklace,which he asked me about.  He was kind of cute in the scruffy,  tallish, beat-poet kind of way, so I told him I'd purchased it for a steampunk costume, and that it seemed appropriate for work that day. (True stories, both. Although now that I stop to think about it, I remember being very uncomfortable with the question at the time.) He, of course, wanted to know more about the costume,  and where I worked, which at the time was a local history museum, and then he wanted to talk about our civil war event, and the little old lady in line behind me looked about ready to spit nails that I only had fifteen items and she was still waiting for me to stop  flirting with the cashier, if you want to call it flirting. It was more of a hold-up where you have to keep doing small talk until the receipt prints.

Anyway. This was at least a year ago. (Obviously he made an impression. Most guys don't go out of their way to make small talk with me. The ones that do stick.)

 Who should be checking out groceries again? Tallish beat poet guy!  Not as cute as I remember -- and today I am not wearing a cameo, or anything vaguely historical. Instead I have my logowear for my new job at a very well-thought-of local cultural institution. The kind of shirt that makes everyone stop and go, "Oh, you work there? We love it there!" It's not a very attractive shirt, but it does get a nice kind of attention.

Lo and behold, he starts doing the small talk thing again! But I'm not having any of it today. I'm a little curt, more than I mean to be, because there's another long-suffering housewife in line behind me and I'm not going to be that twenty-something flirting with the cashier, who's not that cute anyway. So, what do you do at the Arboretum? Oh, this and that. Must be nice working there. Oh, yes, it is. I like it a lot. He manages to drop the fact that he was at a Civil War reenactment this weekend into the small talk, which is impressive and, quite frankly, a little scary -- does he remember me or something? Or is that his thing with all the vaguely attractive single women who come through the checkout?-- and I manage to say something about how the weather must have been nice for it this weekend, which it was.

Then I take my groceries and get the heck out of Dodge before my frozen yogurt melts.

Last year, the Civil War thing would have been really cool to me, cool enough to make me awkwardly hold up traffic in line at the grocery store and maybe leave this guy my number. This year, it's still cool, but I'm wearing a different shirt, even if it is an ugly shade of green and slightly too small. I have a full time job doing what I love. I just had my review this morning and they've told me that they like me, that I'm doing a really good job even though I've only been there three months, and that I'm a valuable member of the team.

I'm moved up in the world...and this guy is still working as a cashier at the local grocery store. It makes me a little glad I didn't leave him my number. Now, I'm sure he's got plans and dreams and I'm also sure he's a great guy, and maybe I should have given him a chance. But it also makes me aware of how incredibly blessed I am. I've been so worried about being staid and staying in the same place and being afraid that I'm not moving forward, but I am moving forward. From outward appearances, I'm practically in the next galaxy!

It's easier to see the change in our lives when we see something else that's stood still while we were moving.

So, in conclusion, sorry, cashier-dude whose name I could probably find on my receipt. My priorities have shifted. And your hair was cuter last year.