Wayward

I worked almost ten years in a job that I never enjoyed. I mean, I guess I shouldn't say never...there were moments I enjoyed. There were people I enjoyed. There was even a position I enjoyed. One. Out of like five. Six? Something like that. It wasn't that I actively disliked it. Well, there were two or three of the positions I had that I did actively dislike, and two managers I had whom I definitely actively disliked. But for the most part, there was a sort of resigned contentedness. I had a routine, I got a paycheck. The American Way. But as I got older, and as other parts of my life became more fulfilling, the discontent I felt professionally came into sharper and sharper contrast. I worked for this great company who lots of people would've been happy to work for, but...I wasn't one of those people. It got harder and harder to pretend I was.

When I had B, it became virtually impossible to pretend. Sure, I was in a pretty terrible position at that point, but even as it began to improve, I just could not make myself want to be there. And being someone who wants to give my all to an endeavor, I felt increasingly like I was faking it, and as a result, faking myself and the company out. It wasn't a good feeling. And I let it go on long enough that I think it's had a lasting impact on my self esteem. But that's not my point here.

My point here is that this IS the American way. We find "good" jobs with "good" companies, and we just go on autopilot and work ourselves into exhaustion in pursuit of some goal or other. And I don't mean to insult those of you who are truly happy in your professions. That's not what I'm getting at, at all. But there are so many of us who aren't...and particularly in the past couple of years, that really ceased to matter. It was like, "Well, shit. At least I HAVE a job. If they really WANT me to start sleeping at my desk and only seeing my kid for two hours a week, I'll make it work!"

And here's the thing. That DIDN'T work for me. Or my family. We made the decision together that we didn't want that life. We didn't want the life in which I routinely went at least a day a week without seeing my son. We didn't want me working myself into a panic disorder for a paycheck of which we would give fully HALF to childcare. We made a conscious decision to put our family first.

So, why do I feel like such a selfish quitter, so much of the time?