"Warring Ideals in One Dark Body"

I ran into my new supervisor in the elevator and the head of IT at the door. She's soft-spoken with a toothy grin, and he's a bit of a teddy bear who greets me with a hug. I'm practically ushered into my office by my elbows. It has a door. There's a bookshelf and lamp in here for me. My email and phone number are all ready to go. People have been stopping by all morning. "We're so happy that you're here/back!" they beam, depending on if they were around when I worked here a few years ago. There's still a print of Ella Fitzgerald, The Duke, and Benny Goodman from the Herman Leonard Collection that I'd loved hanging on the wall from a someone I knew who had this office before I did. That's just fine by me.

For the next three days I get to read about ethics, informed consent, respect for persons, beneficence, and justice. I'm back where I belong in this industry: a think-tank, where reading, thinking, respect, and idea-sharing are encouraged.

I've got this feeling on like soft cocoa butter. Nobody's going to come in here and yell at me or treat me like some kind of talking dog because I know how to answer the phone. Nobody's going  to ask me to work for free. I know the slack-jawed awe will wear off and honeymoons end, but the difference of the quality of the "air" in here is so remarkable that I'm not sure how I stood it as long as I did at the other place.

Also thinking about my friends who are still seeking work and wondering if there's anything I can do for them. I want for them to be able to feel a quiet relief to worry too.