Why Do We Work? Surprise. Surprise.

Work.  It’s something most of us do 40+ hours a week.  But why?  Why do we work?  More importantly — why do you work?

Is it because it’s what you were told you were suppose to do since you were little?  Because you want things?  Because you have bills to pay and or kids to support?  Because you want to make your parents happy?

Do you have the job that you have because it’s your career and you love it?  Because it’s the job you have had since high school and you feel comfortable?  Because you need money now and you can go after your dream job later?

I have worked with the same company for the last twenty years.  I have had five different positions, but none of them really have fulfilled me.   I have always felt like a square peg trying to fit in a round hole at work.  I have always wanted to be a writer, but never went fully after my dream.

Until now.

Most of my job consists of  sorting and picking orders.  And the funny thing I realized last night while laying in bed is that my dad did the same job in a different company how thirty years ago.  I always was a daddy’s girl and I always wanted to be like him. Isn’t it weird that I would have the same job as he had and not realize it?  Am I that out of touch with my job self? If I always wanted to be like him then why wouldn’t I have the job as he had?

But the thing is is that I am not him.  I am me and I am an adult.  An adult who is capable of doing anything she wants and that includes being a writer.  I don’t have to be like my dad job wise.  I can be like him in other areas — honest, hard working, loving, kind, but I don’t have to do the same job he did.

Wow.  I didn’t realize I was doing this.  Why I am working in the same job as he did I don’t know.   Wait.  Yes I do.  On some level I still want to be like him even though I am 52 years old and thought I was way past this.  You would have thought I would have realized this sooner.   I wish I would realized this sooner, but now that I realized this I feel like a weight has been lifted from me.  I always wondered why I stayed at my job even thought it didn’t fulfill me.   It’s funny that the things that are the closest to us are the things we don’t see.

This isn’t how I wanted this post to go.  I have notes that I didn’t even look at (maybe I can use them for another post) because my truth came tumbling out of me.  This is the beauty of writing — you have a plan, but then sometimes it gets derailed and something better comes of it.  Sorry if parts don’t make sense.

I wonder what will happen now that I let go of the need to be who my dad was instead of being myself.  It’s not a bad thing that I was who I was, but now it will be interesting to see how things will change.  Maybe I will let go of my job.  Maybe more writing opportunities will present themselves.   Maybe a new me will emerge.  Maybe nothing will happen.  Who knows.

Please excuse me.  I have to go.  I’m going to starting revising the 2nd draft of my romance novel tonight.   Wish me luck!

 

 

 

 

 

 

2 thoughts on “Why Do We Work? Surprise. Surprise.”

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