I make no secret of the fact I do not like my job. It just…has to be done. So I bear it. I take no pride in it, I don’t accomplish a great deal. I’m fairly useful, I guess, but my heart isn’t in it at all. In an ideal world I’d work from home and write for a living. It’s what I want to do, I think.
I added the ‘I think’ there because I don’t really know what it is I want to do, which after a few weeks of exploring the question with everyone around me, is so common that it’s almost accepted that people stop searching for what they would enjoy doing. I get it, I really do – you get bent over a barrel in a job you don’t like in order to support a house, partner, kids, whatever. The debt you build up doing that makes leaving impossible, so that puts a stop to experimenting with new roles, ideas, exploring. And you just accept it. Maybe you can do a little in your spare time, but again, keeping up that life balance and actively looking for something to do with yourself is hard. I get in from work and by the time I accept I’m home and free it’s time to make dinner, or do a chore, and before you know it it’s 10 in the evening and about time to wind down. This is five days a week.
A lot of the time, I ask why people work and choose to be miserable for a higher paid job, than work a more laid back, lower paid job that might not make them necessarily happy, but is a lot easier to slide in and out of. And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it. ‘I want to have money to enjoy my weekends’. Fair enough, but is it not sad that you’d have five days of unhappiness to have two where you enjoy yourself? And why does that take so much more money to do?
Let me work for myself, writing from home, and I’ll be happy just having a beer and playing on the PS4 all weekend. I choose to not be miserable.
NB I know the hypocrisy of writing this from behind the desk of a job I don’t like is striking, but I’m working on it in my spare time. Writing that is. Also praying for a lottery win.