How Did I Get Here?

Earlier this summer, I actually uttered the words “society doesn’t value the work I do” (in an incredibly self-righteous tone) to my wife when I was trying to talk my way out of having to explain why I don’t have any clear career goals. She was pissed at me for days. I’ve been in social work, a noble calling, but burned out and the pay in that field is pretty awful. I worked for years at an independent label, the JOB THAT I REALLY LOVED that broke my heart when it all went up south (the label went bankrupt and one of the employees was found to have stolen tens of thousands of dollars over the years). Part of me would like to teach, but I feel like it’s too late to start that track (plus the starting salaries don’t cut it…and I break out in a sweat thinking about filling little minds with knowledge for six hours five days a week!)

Several jobs later, I’ve become a grant writer (really a proposal writer, thank you), which I enjoy and do well (but you only go so far in fund raising doing this). But no job since the record label has excited me as much (sad to say), and I’m kind of convinced that the anti-depressant that I’m on has kind of taken out the drive and ambition that I used to have. I don’t miss the lows and gut-wrenching anxiety that used to plague me, but the kick inside of me, the “damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!” drive that propelled me forward just ain’t there anymore. I’m happy and sort of satisfied and definitely complacent, and keeping my head above the water line, but not much more.

It’s not that I’m lazy, well…maybe just a little…and a teeny bit cynical, insecure, and immature. But, as my wife would say, quoting “Kicking and Screaming,” “Man-up!”

I’m a sensitive boy-tea drinker in a land of black coffee he-man men.