During Those Elevator Rides to the Office
I transformed into Superman
It was the first day of my new job. At 42, I had served as a school counselor for several years before accepting a promotion to become a district mentor. This was my opportunity to apply everything I’d learned as a counselor to the larger goal of helping other counselors.
I couldn’t wait to get started.
When I entered the office building, instead of the staff polo I usually wore, I was wearing a starched suit with a tie. It wasn’t the most comfortable getup, but I wanted to appear professional.
People scurried about the large, high-ceilinged lobby like ants. I walked up to the front desk and introduced myself. The security guard, a woman in her fifties, greeted me warmly, signed me in, then directed me to a bank of elevators.
My new office was on the 12th floor.
I was the only person in the elevator. Natural light flooded through its glass walls, offering a clear look at the city streets outside. I pressed the round plastic button.
The doors closed.
As the elevator shot up effortlessly and the city receded below, a weightless sensation overtook me. It felt like an amusement park ride. I was a child again, bouncing off my backyard trampoline and sailing into the vast blue heavens.
I was flying!
I rode all the way up with my hands in the air, rocketing skyward and marveling at my bird’s eye view of the city. When the doors opened for the 12th floor, my new workplace bustled with activity. I met my team and fit right in.
My first day was a success.
The next morning, I waved to the security guard and stepped into the glass elevator again for lift-off. As the rising sun poured over the city’s roofs and treetops, I raised my arms again and launched into flight.
Flying up to the office was exhilarating, and my upbeat mood lasted. My second day went even better than the first.
By the third day, soaring up to work had become a routine. Say hello to the security guard. Enter the elevator. Prepare for takeoff. When the doors closed, I widened my stance and puffed out my chest. Then, I lifted my left knee, cocked an upturned fist on my hip, hoisted my right arm upward, and took flight.
During those daily elevator rides to the office, I transformed into Superman.
Faster than a speeding bullet. Stronger than a locomotive. Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. By the time I reached the 12th floor to start work, I was a superhero.
After my first week on the job, I passed the front desk on my way to lunch. When the security guard spotted me, she grinned widely and called, “Hey Superman!”
I stopped in my tracks. My cheeks burning.
“What?” I asked.
“We’ve been watching you on the security camera all week,” she said with a laugh. “By the third day, people started gathering around the monitors as soon as you entered the elevator.”
Too embarrassed to say anything, I turned to walk away.
But as I headed toward the exit, the guard called out again, “Hey, Superman!”
I turned back to look at her.
“Don’t ever lose that joy.”
