I had a job.
It was an ok job,
As far as jobs go.
I made decent money.
It was near my house.
No one hit me, yelled at me or spat at me.
What more could I ask for?!
I could ask for just one more thing. A life which I didn’t dread 90% of.
I could ask for anything but this place,
This job, this lifestyle,
Because it was killing me.
You’ll think I mean figuratively,
But I mean that literally.
I woke up early.
Put on the clothes I bought for work.
Got into the car I needed to get to work.
I worked 10 hours.
I went home
I recovered from work
Then I went to sleep
So I would be rested for work.
Lather, rinse, repeat
For the next 40 years.
My ass was getting fat.
My usually fit body was getting gooey.
My mind was getting dull.
My marriage was getting boring.
My personality was getting bitchy.
My outlook was getting bleak.
And I couldn’t take it anymore.
So I quit.
I don’t see the shame in quitting anything that isn’t right
If I’m only going to be on earth for X number of years,
I want to do it my way.
I don’t want to dread waking up in the morning.
I want to wake up, and feel happy that I’m alive.
I still need to work.
I am a human, and I have bills to pay.
But I’m sacrificing money for happiness and health.
A sacrifice I would make a million times over.
I traded the nice paychecks for a job that I genuinely feel excited to do.
I go to work and people tell me their stories,
I share in their wellness journey,
For a couple hours I am a character in their story,
For a fleeting moment I’m part of their lives.
I traded auto-replies and formletters
For humanity and for happiness.
… And holy hell, it feels GOOD.