I think we all get a bit desperate sometimes (unless you’re completely satisfied with your life in every way, in which case, well done. Seriously.). This past year I’ve been fluctuating between different directions of desperation. I desperately want to quit my job. Then I desperately want to be able to enjoy my job because hey, it pays pretty good and my life would be fine if I could just learn to like it. But when I’m working, I just want to write. When I’m working, I just want to read. I don’t see the pay as a reward for hard work – it’s just a reminder of how much time I’ve wasted. That’s honestly how I see my work: wasted time.
I know a lot of you out there are artistically minded. You love imagination and beautiful things. Some of your are even fortunate enough to make a living doing you enjoy. Of course, fortune isn’t the whole of the matter. You invest the whole of yourself into what you do – you threw caution to the wind and put your heart and soul on the line. I desperately want to do the same.
But I’m just so damn practical!
Maybe practical isn’t the right word. But it’s something cold like that. Logical. Calculating.
I like to think of it as realistic. I went straight from high school to uni because I was realistic. I went straight from uni into a full-time job because I was realistic. I thought of these things as starting my life. Building a foundation. But how was my life founded? What was I building towards? I find myself surrounded by people who are truly invested in their careers but when they talk about them I completely lose interest. It would be so easy if I was as driven as them. If I were so motivated towards ‘progression’ and ‘advancement’, then things would be simple.
But the truth is, I want to stop.
I don’t care about working towards the next step up the ladder. I don’t care about gaining experience. I just don’t care about my work.
Then that little voice crops up again – anything could happen in the future. Anything. Bad things. Things that cost money, and will always and continue to cost money. What are you going to do then if you quit now while you’re still able to work?
I hate being realistic. Reality sucks. I worked that out when I was fifteen and I found out ‘adventuring archaeologist’ wasn’t a real job. That’s why I started writing. My first book was about the search for Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s secret tomb. So why was I trying to act in accordance with reality? Because I can’t run away from reality. I can’t hide from reality. But I bloody well want to sometimes.
Do you ever have a certain feeling bubbling up inside of you that you are doing the exact opposite of what you are meant to do? That desperate drive to be who you really are, and damn the consequences? It would be so liberating. I could be so free.
But I can’t escape reality. So the argument goes around and around again. I want but I need. I need but I want. I’m not even sure which is the want and which is the need anymore. Do I need money or fulfillment? I suspect my perspective is skewed, but I’m not sure where the bias lies. What’s more important to me? What will matter more in the future? I’m just stuck in this state of desperation, swinging between positivity and negativity.
I don’t know if you could tell, but I had a fairly shit day at work.
Ugh, I know I’m in a bit of rut right now. I love this blog, and I love writing and I love reading, and work isn’t preventing me from doing any of these things that I love. After all, I still have a bit of time at the end of the day. Maybe tomorrow I can afford a better perspective. But right now, I just needed to rant. I’m sure you’ve felt the same at times. Thank you for giving me this space to voice myself, even when I’ve gotten a little ugly. Please feel free to rant and rave at me whenever you feel like it – now that I’ve put you through this, you have every right to do the same.