I should be happy, right? I’m employed. Lots of people aren’t. I make a decent living wage, and I have a pension. Lots of people don’t. I contribute to society. I promote access to justice for the disadvantaged. I assist people who have challenges to negotiate a confusing and frustrating system.
So, I should be happy, right?
Here’s the thing. I’ve been doing this for – wait for it – fifteen years. For last seven or eight of those years, I have been doing almost exactly the same thing, every single day. I interview people in crisis. No one comes to me because their life is Perfectly Happy and they Haven’t a Care in the World. People come to me when their life is going down the shitter, for any of a variety of reasons. Sad people; angry people; confused people. Some of them I can help, some of them I can’t. A few are grateful for my help. Most are indifferent. Some are frightening and intimidating. Whether I can help someone or not has nothing to do with whether they are pleasant and polite. It can be very, very frustrating.
So, I think sometimes, why don’t I do something else? This is not What I Wanted to Do When I Grow Up. I came to this field completely by accident in 1986, through the back door. I found it suited some deep-seated thirst for justice in me, and also paid the bills, so I have stayed.
But I may be getting just a little burned out…I’ve tried to pursue other opportunities within the organization, but for some reason, I think I’m pretty much where they want me. Don’t get me wrong, I feel valued but – getting a bit bored. Maybe a little jaded.
I never want to not-care. I never want to be another negative, bitter civil servant. I honestly believe in what I do, and I know it’s valuable. I’m not sure what the answer is here. It’s a good gig, and mostly, it’s been good to me, and I’ve been good to it.
Here’s a couple of rejected career change ideas:
a) Kinda old.
b) Can’t dance.
c) Tutus (enough said about that).
d) Pretty sure shoes don’t come in my size.
e) Gotta find a ballet-dude who’s about seven foot six and can lift me over his head.
a) Not good at science-y stuff.
b) Blood and stuff.
c) Poop and vomit.
d) Depressing being around sick people.
a) Bad knees.
b) Bugs and stuff.
c) Dirty fingernails.
I’m stumped, friends. Really, what else am I qualified to do? As my Dear One says, my runway is getting shorter all the time. If I were to go back to school, it would have to be for a very short time.
I think the answer is to refresh my interest in what I do, or leave it strictly at the office door every night and enhance my life in other ways.
But I’m booooorrrrrrrrred.