I'm not a happy camper at my job.
That thought has been percolating in my head for awhile, now, but I've kept it nicely supressed until this weekend.
Someone once told me that if your first thought upon awakening Monday morning is "Good God -- morning," instead of "Good morning, God" -- you've got problems. I think I've got problems.
I came of age at a time when academic advisors and career counselors all operated under the principle that I'll call A Beam of Light From Heaven -- that you must educate yourself for and train for and interview for one narrowly-defined career area, or else noone will take you seriously as an employable person. Imagine my distress when, after several years of college, the Beam of Light never appeared. It did for my friends; the roommate who was born to be an accountant; my best friend the audiologist; the buddy who was absolutely geeked to be a doctor. I never felt that compelling longing. And that panicked me. What window of opportunity had I missed to somehow find this vocation that I had been, according to all accounts, meant for?
As my life progressed, I learned to make peace with my generalist's fate. As the economy changed, I even felt somewhat fortunate in not being too boxed in vocationally; there's something to be said for being flexible and a quick study. One of the best books on job-hunting I've ever read, Zen and the Art of Making a Living by Laurence Boldt, even made what is the bold suggestion in the vocational-counseling genre -- that sometimes a job is just a job that helps finance the real, non-paying vocation(s) of your heart. That made me feel validated. And if you like the "just a job," that does work.
But "just a job" can also kill you by degrees, no matter how generous the pay and benefits.
So...what do I really want to be when I grow up? I don't know.