I don’t dream of a pink house with a white picket fence. I don’t dream of walking into an office, one that I’ve walked in to for the last 40 years, to cheering and a cake and a shitty watch. To me that is a nightmare. I dream of a shack on a remote beach, a bottle of cheap beer, and when I’m too old to enjoy it walking into the waves one last time. My favorite scene of a movie is the first Mel Gibson scene in Lethal Weapon, where he’s in a trailer on beach with a beer and his dog. More than that and the man seems to own you.
Just to clarify things: I come from a lower middle class upbringing. I’ve worked year round since I was 16 (my dad kicked me awake on my 16th birthday with a “happy birthday, now get a job” and work is a way of life. I’ve worked hard. Like anyone else. I won the education race, I have as advanced a degree and training as one can get in the US and I make more than a comfortable living.
I’m gonna tell ya a fucking secret: There is a certain personality type who thrives on making more and more and fucking more money. To them that is the end all be all of life. But for MOST of us this just isn’t the case. I don’t care the education. I don’t care the social class at birth. Most people just want to be happy and to understand the point of it all — And it’s not the constant fight for money.
Working sucks. I kill myself at work. I bleed at work. I give my soul at work. That’s the job I chose. That’s the price. I got it. But after 20+ years, after countless lives saved, I gotta tell ya, the juice isn’t worth the squeeze. Fuck the money. I want my life back.