Prompt: “Something About Work”
What to say, except I really like work. I like lists; I like knowing what I’m going to be doing as soon as I wake up. I like Mondays better than weekends. I feel untethered on weekends, like I’m floating in space, and it’s unnerving. There is nothing worse for me that feeling at the end of the day like I wasted a day. When I watch movies at home, I fold laundry. When I’m exhausted in the evenings, I make lists. I like work.
I like work that generally pays little to nothing. Not because I’m altruistic or wealthy but because I keep finding jobs and interests that aren’t lucrative. I work in ministries, I volunteer, I create and organize, and I teach on line, and I make diddly squat. But I’m not sure what to do at this age; it’s a bit late to get ambitious. I’m fortunate enough that my mate’s income has been substantial enough to keep us both healthy and happy.
Here’s a list of jobs I might have liked:
Librarian – obsolete and no money
Writer – Everyone writes or wants to have written, and it’s all awful out there; I’m not contributing to that.
Teacher – Actually, I have this degree but think I escaped a job I would not have liked, unless I had had great students in a French class curriculum.
Genealogist – Except I can be ditzy and you must be able to think of alternative “routes” and strategies.
Musician (would have loved to play flute in an orchestra). Who ever thinks of that?
Runner (not possible)
Data entry, where you just sit and enter data and drink a giant drink and go home and never think about your job at home. You just go home and water your flowers. This one might have been attainable, but I missed that boat, as well.
So I just keep volunteering at schools and church and neighborhoods. I keep journaling, reading, writing, listening to great music and running with no talent. I keep planning holiday parties for my grandkids and trying to prove I belong in the DAR according to my research, but no one cares except me. And I keep shuffling along on the roads of my neighborhood imitating runners, slower than mud, but content.
And can you believe it … after having admitted all of these things, I still like my life. Wouldn’t trade it. Grateful.
One Hoosier Life 