Previously, I wrote a bit about my history of work. Jobs I had, but never truly felt happy with. I finished the post with noting I found another place where I’d work until meeting my dearest in wonderful Malaysia where before departure I had found an apartment for a month long. Now, to get there, I had eight weeks worth of work in a town two stations away. Five days a week, I biked to the train, rode it for the quarter of an hour before casually walking the last thirty or so minutes. I blissfully did so and viewed the walk as me-time. Something needed, as I worked over fifty hours a week and the moment home my screen spoke draining words as I followed online courses and while jotting down important notes my mind whispered words of guilt exclaiming I should have pushed harder during my workout. So, that morning and early-evening walk was welcomed and kept me cool.
Work itself was at a warehouse manned by five when at full crew and I was to replace the ones rotatingly off on holiday. Why I always return to a warehouse? It feels comfortable. Perhaps peculiar coming from a guy used to leaving the bubble of comfort, but yes, it is sincere. The thought of retailing or facing customers on the daily or sitting at a desk seems unappealing and in ways daunting with all the social interactions. Being physically active is a pro for me and since mucking up stables pays inadequate and the work comes scarce, I once again returned to handling and picking orders. And I seemed to enjoy these weeks and even the long Saturday of hauling furniture on my tugger was made doable due to it only being a single day in the week. But, if I may speak complete honesty, with the excitement and passion I had said farewell to both, I believe my love was faked. Faked by an incentive of Malaysia and a beautiful Filipina calling for me. The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow made the dreading climb an illusive walk in the park. Call it a mirage. Oft, I was irritated. When work was slow it took me seconds to glance at my phone for the time and pray for it to speed up and at the ending of it, I began to feel the same I feel all elsewhere. That I am finished.
I realise writing this will be the worst possible stamp on my resume, but after weeks, months, depending on the particular job and people, I simply can’t anymore. I can’t stand getting up at six to force an early meal, bike the exact same path I have for god knows how many times only to then start a day doing the exact same tasks I always do. I realised that feeling loomed above me and if I hadn’t left there it would have taken over again. The second I set the alarm, even when I accept the job or go to the interview, the clock starts. A countdown as to when I am done. Normal people work year in and year out, get promoted and build up a pension and are happy. In many ways, I am sad to admit that I am not normal. I have never seen myself in any position working under someone for more than a year and the thought alone frightens me and makes me unhappy.
But, normal is also boring. And boring, I do not do. Therefore, I pushed myself to work 50+ hours as I workout, follow online studies and fight myself a way through life’s dull moments in before I find myself abroad again. And one day, I promise myself, I will take grip of life’s ropes and take control in anything and then, just maybe, I can be truly happy without the fear of being stuck doing a 9-6 or 8-5 or anything that is not on my terms.
Don’t be scared to take the leap. Work for it, fight for it and make it happen. You deserve to be happy and if it is impossible to do so with your current way of living, change something. Don’t live a life that is a lie!