Think about any time you’ve said that. It’s usually got something to do with embarrassing devices, greenery you’re not supposed to have, that boy bad CD your friend found under your bed. But have you ever thought it while at work? You clock in everyday. Do your job to the best of your ability, have conversation with Susan and Greg all for the sake of a nice work environment. You collect a paycheck every two weeks and you, if you’re like most of us, are barely getting by. But you go right back to work.
Well a few years back I was sitting at my desk with gnawing feeling in my gut. Like I wasn’t where I was supposed to be. Like everything was somehow off. I worked through the whole day feeling like something was just missing. I get home, play with my dog and do some crocheting. Yes, I crochet, for fun no less! I began to feel a little better. I get ready for bed, grab my book and I feel like I am less empty than when I started my day.
My alarm goes off and suddenly, there it is, the empty gnawing feeling. I do my best Taylor Swift and shake it. Breakfast was made, lunch was packed and off I went to the car. Turned on some of my favorite early 2000’s emo and sang all the way back to the office. I clocked in and there is the feeling. The feeling if empty.
While checking my emails I notice the name of the business I work for is everywhere. I open a tab and I start reading about how it all began for the company. The man, the dream, the vision, the reality. And there in that moment it clicks in my head. This isn’t mine. I’m not working for my dream. I’m working for someone else’s dream. I’m working so they can have joy. I sacrifice my joy so a stranger can do everything he’s ever wanted to do. Ouch!
I want that. I want to smile genuinely. I want to feel like what I’m doing is going to get me somewhere. Instead I just feel used and under appreciated. How does one get to where they are okay to work towards someone else’s dream and not their own? I wish I never would have realized this. Things were simpler when I believed going to work everyday was going to get me somewhere on my road if goals. Instead I am making sure people who have no idea I exist or what my face even looks like, are living their best life.
But alas, I return everyday and I do my job and I go home and play with my dog. My job affords me a roof over my head, food in my belly and the occasional pedicure. Life is not bad, just not fulfilling as I dreamed it would be when I couldn’t wait to be an adult.
How Did I Get Here? 