Hamster Wheel
Photo by Alpha Auer
I’m off it. I don’t work in a job; I don’t go to an office. More than once, I’ve resigned from a perfectly plum job – one with responsibility, recognition, an expense account, all that good stuff – to go off on my own.
I do work at a profession, but on my own terms. Which sometimes means no terms, or too many terms at once. I don’t have the kind of weight or influence that I might enjoy had I continued on the aforementioned career tracks (and it’s arguable whether or not I would have anyway), but I do have my independence, which, although I know perfectly well it’s an illusion, I cherish.
Still, you might notice a thread of a bittersweet “I used to be somebody” woven into my musings. There’s a lot I miss about those big fat jobs. But I don’t miss the all-day-every-day grind, I don’t miss the company politics and I don’t miss working for men with cruel tempers and bad hair.
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