Eventually, I left that job, too, forced out by downsizing in the recessionary summer of '1991. I vowed that I would never love a job or a boss or a colleague again. So a few months later, when I was offered a job at the most august newspaper in the nation, which had a reputation for being an unhappy place to work, I was prepared and relieved. I didn't want my job to become my life. If I was entering an unfriendly workplace, so much the better--I wouldn't even be tempted to get attached to anyone there. I would be aloof. I would be safe. My strategy yielded mixed results: Because I was always preparing for the day when I would no longer work at the famous newspaper, I never became as committed to my job as more ardent, hungrier colleagues, who won awards and were doted on by management. They could work weekends, but I would have a life! I would go to the beach! I would go to the movies and out for brunch on Sundays! As they fell in love with their own ambition, I fell in love with a real person (in another profession), which seemed possible because I wasn't putting all my emotional energy into my job.