“You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream.” –C.S. Lewis
I.
I only know three people who love their jobs:
- My old roommate, who is a police officer for the Santa Ana Police Department.
- My optometrist
- ...
Maybe I only know two people who love their jobs.
My old roommate LOVES her job. She works nights over the weekend.
Let me repeat that: she works the graveyard shift. OVER THE WEEKEND.
Yes, she loves her job. She is passionate about her work. She uses words like “thrilling” and “awesome” to describe her job. She also interacts with drug dealers, gang members and prostitutes in her line of work. Who else can say that? (I guess drug dealers, gang members and prostitutes can also say that…)
My optometrist also loves her job. I asked her if she liked staring at eyeballs all day, and she said yes. She said it was fascinating to her.
You know what?
I believed her.
And then I thought—just for a second—that perhaps I should’ve pursued a similar career path so I could kindly tell a patient she has astigmatism, and that her tear film is “spotty”, which is why she suffers from such severe dry eye. But that thought quickly evaporated (just like my tear film).
I couldn’t be a police officer like my old roommate because I typically don’t run toward danger. Also, I couldn’t do one pull-up to save my life. My old roommate had to do a lot of pull-ups when she was in boot camp. I mean, she had to do a lot of other things but I was most impressed by the fact that she could do pull-ups.
I couldn’t be an optometrist because I would never get into optometry school. Even though I think eyeballs are amazing, I don’t think I could force myself to know EVERYTHING about them. Besides, mine don’t work well at all. You should see me walk Crosby when I’m not wearing contacts or glasses. I make angry, squinting faces at my neighbors and wave in their general direction just in case they waved.
The only thing I could ever be is a writer.
So, I pursued writing.
II.
I had glamorous ideas about being a starving writer. It just seemed so sexy!
Working three jobs just to pay the bills? OF COURSE! That will add to my credibility!
Single? You bet your butt I will be!
A billion tattoos? Uhh YES.
Cigarettes, coffee and wine? All day, every day!
I had those ideas when I was in my early twenties. They changed when I met Mike.
Here’s what happened after that:
- We graduated and moved to Orange County to be close to my family.
- Mike proposed.
- I got a writing job at a big company.
- We got married.
- We bought a house.
- We adopted our dog, Crosby, from the animal shelter.
· All that occurred over the course of five years. Sometimes I think, where has the time gone? Am I really at this place in my life now?
Yes. What I once thought was the distant future is my present. I am living it now.
And boy, does it look different:
- I'm happily married.
- I'm building a nice home with Mike.
- I have a mortgage.
- I have a great dog!
- I spend Saturday mornings cleaning my whole house instead of sleeping in till 1:00 p.m. and detoxing before the next wild night out.
- Even my body is different. It's wobblier.
You know what else looks different? I spend all day writing non-creative things. By the time I get home, I’m too tired to write anything else. In fact, after a 12-hour day, all I have time to do is cook a quick dinner, hold hands with Mike, and pet Crosby before going to bed.
I’ve done this for four years now. Somehow, I thought this year would be different. I thought I would learn to set boundaries to protect my home life—my writing life—but I was wrong. Instead of learning to set boundaries, I learned that I am terrible at setting boundaries.
I learned that I am bad at saying no. Instead of saying, “No, I can’t do this”, I say, “Okay, I’ll get it done”—and I sacrifice my life, my marriage, my relationships, and my true self instead. This rhythm of all non-creative-work and no life made me sad. For months, I thought—this is it. This is my life. I’m 28. I’m officially OLD. It’s too late to try something new, to dream a new dream (or revive an old one).
(I know those were my fears talking but in my defense, they talk really, really loudly.)
My prayers looked like this:
What the cuss, God?! Is this it? Will this job be the measure of my life? I can barely nurture, love and support my husband right now. How will I sustain a family? Can I even conceive? I’m so stressed out all the time I don’t know if it’s even possible. And God, one more thing: I never thought I’d want to be a stay-at-home mom but I’ve changed my mind. Is that okay? Is that even possible in Southern California? Do we have to move out of state? Hello? Are You still listening? WHAT DO I DO?
I don’t have any answers yet. (And that’s okay.)
I know God has heard me wail, moan, cuss, complain and weep bitter tears over my job and what my life was becoming.
But He has also said, Bean—I’ve got this. Just wait—you’ll see.
So I’ve waited. I’m still waiting. And from what I can tell, I think His surprise is going to blow my mind.
(I just pictured brain matter flying out of my ears like popcorn. Did you?)
III.
While I’m waiting, I have decided that I must write, and not just because I can’t be a police officer or an optometrist.
I must write because that is the only thing God made me remotely good at.
I think He is saying that, too. Right now, I have the privilege of working on two freelance writing projects at the same time. Yes, I am now working three jobs, which is why I’m writing this blog entry past midnight.
For the first time in years, I AM HAPPY WITH MY JOB(S).
I feel like I’m just starting to live.
I feel like these writing opportunities are just the beginning—of what, I don’t know.
I’ll wait and see.
IV.
A lot of my friends work their behinds off at jobs they don’t like. I think it’s more common than uncommon. But friends—don’t get lost. Don’t throw yourself and your dreams away. Work hard—yes—but live well.
Let’s fight to reclaim our lives, to live lives worth talking about. As Mary Oliver says,
"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"
Yes—tell me.
