The day draws near, when I’ll be back in the grind. I hesitate to even come to write here, knowing that I should perhaps start to prepare myself, mentally, for the task ahead. A little undercurrent of agitation, well, I suppose that can’t be too bad – it will perhaps keep me somewhat honest. Otherwise though, I know I must quiet myself to some degree, to bear the toil and the monotony, and the gruelling nature of the job.
I think sometimes of losing my job, and it doesn’t scare me so much. I think mostly of the year that I would have lost, the references I likely wouldn’t get, and of course, I might also see the life I’m aiming toward recede a little further beyond the horizon. But I also feel it as a release – losing this job. Cutting ties with an ogre, or some rapacious monster that takes too much and leaves too little for myself… or some overzealous ruler that demands a smile and obedience, even while in the quiet recesses of my room, or my mind for that matter.
I’m happy just to write, and I come to a better understanding of what has meaning to me, and what makes life meaningful. I’ve adorned myself with degrees and qualifications, which are a badge of competency and indeed they do open doors, but they don’t mean very much beyond that, outside of means towards ends.
I feel I’d be letting people down if I left, and I imagine, however humble my station here, there would be a slight vacuum and a little bit of chaos if I had left suddenly. So much seems provisional here. I imagine my hiring was part of some stopgap measure, borne out of expediency more than anything else. At first I really was thankful for the experience and the credentials I’d be winning through here… but they’ve altered my trajectory somewhat, changed the centre of gravity or main thrust of my CV (I can’t help but laugh a little when I find myself speaking in these terms). I’ve been concerned with making myself more employable for years, thinking that after… beyond this point, once I had reached some “employable” state… sufficiently employable state… I would be in a comfortable enough position to focus on meaning.
I wonder and fear a little, whether my search for meaning won’t be a half measure… something that I do when I’m able to sneak away a few moments from the exigencies of the moment. It’s uncanny how I give myself over to work. I enjoy it sometimes immensely and I can even lose myself in it. Maybe I really don’t know what I want… or what dreams I have. I think I do… although I know I’m fickle and likely to waver in much of what I do.
Typing out a few words honestly, without pretension, for a woman I don’t yet know.