New PSAP, New Me

I was let go two weeks ago, and to be completely honest, I almost quit on dispatch entirely.

When Reg told me, "This job is hard; it's not for everyone," that felt like permission to fail. I didn't accept that. I didn't need permission to fail; I needed determination to succeed.

“Of course this job is hard," I thought. "And it’s not a job for just anyone. But hell, I’m not ‘just anyone.’ I’m ME. I’m intelligent and motivated and hardworking. I have my limitations, but they’re in my body, not my brain. My mind is capable of anything I put it to, as long as I don’t quit, don’t slack, don’t accept excuses for failure.” 

Seeing those thoughts written out, it sounds narcissistic. Like I think the world of myself, and couldn't imagine not being good at something. But really it's the opposite. I didn't tell myself that stuff because I believed it; I told myself that to try to make myself believe it, to keep myself moving forward no matter what. 

My whole life I've been mediocre. If I slacked, I'd fall behind, but if I worked really, really hard, I could achieve... mediocrity. And then Reg came along. They looked at me, and they said, "We think you just have what it takes to make it here." but when I look at my skills and my strengths, and then I look at what a good dispatcher should be, they all seem to line up. So I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could be good. 

More than anything, I think what I really wanted was to be exceptional. People at Reg always mentioned so-and-so trainee who never made it, and such-and-such who dropped out due to the pressure. And it made sense. Reg was like the Harvard of PSAPs. Only the best survived there, and almost everyone who did came from a background in dispatch already. I wanted, for once in my life, to qualify among the best, to set myself apart. 

The day that Regional told me that I was being let go, Gabe (more on him at a later date) was on his way out when I was on my way in. They gave me the news at the beginning of my shift, so we both wound up leaving around the same time after all. He found me in my car, staring glassily ahead.

He crawled into my front seat, not needing to be asked. For a while we just sat. And then I started to cry.

He told me something that, honestly, I didn't immediately take to heart, but that would stay with me forever all the same.

"You will not fail at being a dispatcher. I cannot promise what happens at Regional. But I can promise you that you will not fail at being a dispatcher at another PSAP."

The reason I didn't take it to heart immediately was because I didn't want to go to another PSAP. I wanted to succeed among the Navy SEALs of dispatch. I tried to explain this to him, and he told me: "Regional is intense, even for me. When I tell my single-PSAP dispatcher friends about it, they always say, I could never do that. Please don't think you can't be a 911 dispatcher just because you are struggling at Regional."

And maybe he was right, but I still felt like a failure. 

In a near-whisper, I said: "I just wanted to shine."

"Trust me," he promised, "You will. And when that day comes, I'll say I told you so." 

That was late October, and the day for him to make good on his promise came today, in the form of an email from the Dispatch Supervisor from a town adjacent to mine. 

Dizzy,

It was great chatting with you today to review your resume and cover letter, and to learn more about you and the qualifications you would bring to our department. The interview panel met after you left, and we were all equally impressed with the caliber of applicant that you are, and believe that you will be a valuable addition to our team.

For this reason, I would like to move forward with you in the hiring process. We are excited about the prospect of having you join our department and believe that your contributions will make a significant impact on our agency’s success and mission. We look forward to your positive response and the opportunity to work together.

I start in two weeks. 

When I texted Gabe to tell him the good news, he said exactly what I was expecting him to:

"This is the day I say I told you so. Congratulations, my friend."

I'm still worried that I won't make it, but Gabe's confidence in me, the enthusiasm of the supervisor upon meeting me, the warmth of the embrace of my new work community-- all of that gives me hope that maybe, there's still hope for me yet. Maybe I don't have to be exceptional to be good enough. And just maybe, with the right support, I really will be able to thrive here.