Life on the Bottom Rung
I have what most people would call a "dead-end" job. I work for a major big-box retailer. On the bottom rung. I'm not a manager, though I once was. I'm not a supervisor, though I once was. Two years ago, almost to the day, I left all that behind and became a worker. What I do for a living (ie. how I make my money) matters little to me. I mean as long as it's legal, pays me enough, and I enjoy it.
Others seem far more concerned than I am. Oh, they rarely voice their opinions, but I can see the "look". It's part pity, part incredulous, part cognitive dissonance. Something doesn't add up. Surely Stacee is smart enough to have a better job. She sounds smart enough, intelligent even.
I'm quite certain that I'm smart enough to have a "better" job. Incidentally, I'm also smart enough not to have one. I encourage others to do the same. Get this. I have minimal stress as I'm not "in charge" of a damn thing. I go to work, work, and go home. I don't have to think about work when I'm not at work. I work forty hours and occasionally I put in a little bit of non-mandatory overtime. And it's mindless enough (I put boxes on shelves) to allow me to write stories in my head.
How is it that I'm able to do this? Just work a job? Two reasons...
(1) I make enough money. What is enough? I live pay check to pay check like 99.9% of Americans, regardless of their income. That said, I rarely lack for anything. I have enough cable to stave off boredom and fast enough Internet to keep frustration at a minimum. I eat out (mostly fast food) with far too much regularity. I have money in savings and a couple retirement accounts. I enjoy playing tennis on Austin's cheap, yet well-maintained, city courts. I live in a safe, welcoming part of town. My car gets me too and from (though I do need to get the A/C looked at).
and...
(2) I checked my ego and stopped letting what I do for a living define me. I don't need to be a store manager, The Boss of anything, a doctor, a lawyer, or the Big Wazoo. I am content being Stacee. I often meet new acquaintances who invariably ask "what I do". When I say I work at {insert Big Box Retailer here}, invariably a well-meaning friend nearby will jump into the conversation and insist that I'm "also a writer". I appreciate being called a writer. I am one. It just doesn't happen to pay the bills and I feel pretentious saying that writing is what I do when I've yet to be published or earn enough to live on.
Like I said above, others care. Others want me to be more than a lowly retail worker. I know with the greatest certainty that I am not what I do. I am who I am. I've known plenty of people who have out ranked me who couldn't find a shred of common sense with two hands, a flashlight, and a diving rod. I've known plenty of people who have out earned me who couldn't find kindness or decency if it bit them on the ass then laid dead at their feet.
Could I find a "better job"? Yeah, probably. Could I put in for a promotion at work? Sure. However, if I did all that, would I have time for me? For my hobbies? For my second job (ie. writing)? Would I be able to spend eight hours a day developing characters and plotting stories? Would my life be as stress-free as it is now? I guess the right answer to all those questions is a decisive maybe. Regardless, I'm unwilling to risk it. I like what I do, it pays enough, and it leaves me with ample brain power to create. Why change things when the only ones who care aren't me?
Ok, so I do hope that someday I'll be able to write for a living. That is the only change I'm willing to make. And you can bet I won't let it define me. Even when I'm on the New York Times Best Seller List, I'll still just be Stacee and my ego will remain checked. I'm sure others will interject about my accomplishments - "Stacee's not just a writer. She's on such-and-such best seller list". That kind of thing. And that's ok. Really it is. For now, though, I'm cool with the bottom rung.
Others seem far more concerned than I am. Oh, they rarely voice their opinions, but I can see the "look". It's part pity, part incredulous, part cognitive dissonance. Something doesn't add up. Surely Stacee is smart enough to have a better job. She sounds smart enough, intelligent even.
I'm quite certain that I'm smart enough to have a "better" job. Incidentally, I'm also smart enough not to have one. I encourage others to do the same. Get this. I have minimal stress as I'm not "in charge" of a damn thing. I go to work, work, and go home. I don't have to think about work when I'm not at work. I work forty hours and occasionally I put in a little bit of non-mandatory overtime. And it's mindless enough (I put boxes on shelves) to allow me to write stories in my head.
How is it that I'm able to do this? Just work a job? Two reasons...
(1) I make enough money. What is enough? I live pay check to pay check like 99.9% of Americans, regardless of their income. That said, I rarely lack for anything. I have enough cable to stave off boredom and fast enough Internet to keep frustration at a minimum. I eat out (mostly fast food) with far too much regularity. I have money in savings and a couple retirement accounts. I enjoy playing tennis on Austin's cheap, yet well-maintained, city courts. I live in a safe, welcoming part of town. My car gets me too and from (though I do need to get the A/C looked at).
and...
(2) I checked my ego and stopped letting what I do for a living define me. I don't need to be a store manager, The Boss of anything, a doctor, a lawyer, or the Big Wazoo. I am content being Stacee. I often meet new acquaintances who invariably ask "what I do". When I say I work at {insert Big Box Retailer here}, invariably a well-meaning friend nearby will jump into the conversation and insist that I'm "also a writer". I appreciate being called a writer. I am one. It just doesn't happen to pay the bills and I feel pretentious saying that writing is what I do when I've yet to be published or earn enough to live on.
Like I said above, others care. Others want me to be more than a lowly retail worker. I know with the greatest certainty that I am not what I do. I am who I am. I've known plenty of people who have out ranked me who couldn't find a shred of common sense with two hands, a flashlight, and a diving rod. I've known plenty of people who have out earned me who couldn't find kindness or decency if it bit them on the ass then laid dead at their feet.
Could I find a "better job"? Yeah, probably. Could I put in for a promotion at work? Sure. However, if I did all that, would I have time for me? For my hobbies? For my second job (ie. writing)? Would I be able to spend eight hours a day developing characters and plotting stories? Would my life be as stress-free as it is now? I guess the right answer to all those questions is a decisive maybe. Regardless, I'm unwilling to risk it. I like what I do, it pays enough, and it leaves me with ample brain power to create. Why change things when the only ones who care aren't me?
Ok, so I do hope that someday I'll be able to write for a living. That is the only change I'm willing to make. And you can bet I won't let it define me. Even when I'm on the New York Times Best Seller List, I'll still just be Stacee and my ego will remain checked. I'm sure others will interject about my accomplishments - "Stacee's not just a writer. She's on such-and-such best seller list". That kind of thing. And that's ok. Really it is. For now, though, I'm cool with the bottom rung.
I did similar things for nearly 50 years. The difference is, I was in 'high tech' and managed to get paid a bit more than what {insert Big Box Retailer here} bestows upon the non-management people.
ReplyDeleteWhen I say 'I did similar things', I mean avoided being a manager, avoided being a supervisor, and still did the things I enjoyed doing - and saw the world several times doing it.
It's just too bad {insert Big Box Retailer here} only pays enough to insult their people and, at the same time, try to make the real people feel good about what they do for what little they get.
I’m still wondering how I managed to stay at {insert Big Box Retailer here} for nearly two years.
On the up-side, I can still go in and have a free ice cream and chat with the people I still care about. :-)
Rich E.