I have complained about my job since my second day of employment. That’s what you are supposed to do, right? Complain about the hours, the boss, the crazy coworkers. In college people complain of hangovers, post college people complain about their jobs. It’s the unwritten rule.
And it’s true that my first job did suck, but since then I’ve sorta moved up from being just a plankton in the ocean. With each move I’ve checked off one more thing from my Must Haves for the perfect job. Yet somehow, I’ve still managed to complain about the office not being nice enough, the coworkers not being young enough, the work not being interesting enough.
I am not sure what the source of all this resentment. Perhaps it’s the people I pass on the metro who in their prim-and-proper-do look so contend and happy to go to their jobs. Or perhaps it’s the people I pass on the way home, sitting on the patios of bars enjoying a smoke and drink while laughing with their fellow coworkers. Then, there is the actual job which I feel doesn’t, at all, represent what I am about.
The truth is, I haven’t even given my job a chance. I’ve ignored all the amazing perks I get in addition to my paycheck. I’ve ignored the fact that all the baseball games I see are from a company suite. I’ve ignored the fact that it allows me to travel at whim. I’ve ignored the fact that it’s given me opportunities to volunteer in capacities I’ve never imagined. And most importantly, I’ve ignored the fact that it’s allowing me to go back to college for my master’s degree.
I’ve finally realized that my fantasy of the perfect job is so unsteady and ever-changing that it’s keeping me from appreciating the good things that I already have.
Needless to say, I’ve spent unnatural amounts of energy (and time) disliking my current job and that today I am throwing in the towel. Today I confess that my job is actually pretty sweet.
And although I don’t want to do this exact thing for the rest of my life, I think I am ready to be a little more happy and proud of it.