I work your typical corporate job. Think Monday through Friday, 8-5 (because 9-5 just wasn’t enough time spent under the thumb of the system), business attire, work cubicles, fluorescent lights.
My job has its benefits too. It’s relatively low stress. I don’t have to talk to customers, don’t have to talk anyone actually. I can sit down comfortably all day and don’t have to strain my back from long hours of standing or walking. I can even listen to podcasts or audiobooks while I work. I get two whole days off back to back. Most importantly of all, I can get insurance through my job now so my fears that I’m too poor to ever get sick or injured are somewhat mollified.
These are all things I’m grateful for. Because they were once denied to me. I spent over ten years working in the service and retail industries. Working even longer days – often 15-16 hour one – with terrible/inconsistent schedules, awful pay, abusive customers, uncaring bosses, no benefits, all while accruing the collective scorn of society and being written off as nothing more than a “burger flipper”, undeserving of a wage that would allow me to support myself independently. It’s no wonder so many people in that industry (myself included) fall into drug addiction or substance abuse at some point.
I used to dream about climbing up from the bottom of the barrel and landing an office job. A job I could tell people about without fearing their judgement. A job I could be proud of.
And I did. It took many years, but I’m there now. Here in an office I spend 45 hours a week in. An office I have to sacrifice a few additional hours to travel to and from every week. An office that’s full of people, yet somehow devoid of all vitality, though I’m assured it’s important for us all to show up there to preserve the oh-so-important company culture. An office that keeps me inside while all but maybe 1 or 2 hours of sunlight play out without me. An office where I use up all the mental energy I have, only to come home to a mounting list of tasks that need to be accomplished; tasks I keep telling myself I’ll find the energy to get to. Eventually.
And sure it could be worse, it’s BEEN worse for me. I should be grateful; I am grateful. This is what I aspired to. This is part of what I was working towards when I get doing drugs and getting drunk at 8 am.
But I can’t help but want more out of my brief but precious time on this planet. Not just for myself, but for all of us.
And in the absence of that time, time that society mandates I devote to soulless and passionless work, I feel depressed. And sad. And hopeless.
I want to find my way back to joy again. And I don’t think I’ll find it under this system.