I've always been a bit of a crier. Okay, fine! That's an understatement. When growing up, if my mom raised her voice even one octave higher than usual, I would storm to my room screaming how insensitive she was to my feelings and then fling myself onto my bed in a fit of tears. I have a flair for the dramatic one might say. Not sure, but I think I might've inherited that from a certain Grandmother of mine who dresses like JLo and has a pink vintage truck, just a hunch though.
Anyhow, as I've always been prone to tear-shedding at something as mild as Cottonelle toilet paper commercials involving puppies, I shouldn't have been surprised yesterday when driving home after a particularly harrowing day at work when I burst into tears at a lyric in a country song. I mean really serious, fat rolling tears streaming down my face and theatrical whimpering that I thought the person in the monster truck next to me at the stoplight should've taken note of and given me at least an appropriate nod of sympathy instead of just hitting the gas to pass me.
While the country song had nothing to do with why I was really upset (I despise my job) it hit another chord within me (the I want glamorous driving on the highway thinking of you country song love). And once the ball starts rolling with me, being dramatic and all, it simply isn't enough to just be upset about one thing, I have to find all the other reasons why my life is a giant piece of grody gum stuck to the shoe of life.
The fact of the matter here is this: Working as a customer service rep in the health insurance field is all well and dandy for some. I honestly believe there are people out there who really enjoy, possibly even thrive on this job. I, however am not one of these people waking up in the morning with a smile on my face and a skip in my step to solve issues of the "why in the bloody H aren't you paying my $10,000 doctor's bill, you ass!?" variety.
I sit there getting more and more angry as to why, I (creative lover of books and astounding writing and photography) am stuck in a job which doesn't even begin to pay all my bills, nor make me happy? Wasn't this why I went to college again? To avoid all this pain and existential agony? It is in fact! Not to sound all pouty tantrum here, but I want a writing job! I blessed want to be doing something vaguely in the field of what I love and just shelled out 56,000 dollars to get semi-good at! Is that so much to ask!?
I really don't think it is. Yeah, yeah, I know we are in an economic cul-de-sac of crap, but so what? Ever the optimist, I say that's not good enough for me, America! Your dilemma is no longer my dilema. Some may say oh hush, child, you're lucky to have a job, or in these times take what you can get. Posh on all your faces! I am not going to settle for less, because that's what I do when I'm scared. And to quote Macaulay Culkin, circa his Home Alone days, "Hey, I'm not afraid any more! I said I'm not afraid any more! Do you hear me? I'm not afraid any more!"
That's right. I am not afraid of failure, or losing a job I quite frankly don't give two figs about. I want something better and no one who's ever done great things accomplished them without some daunting adversity first.
So I would like to tip my hat to all my fellow college grads facing the same sort of anguish I am, doing something or nothing in the field of their dreams and say, It's going to happen!
Just keep swinging my friends, one of these days you're bound to hit that ball right outta the park.
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