Compost

If I had a dollar for every time someone told me, work is work you don’t have to like it, I would have SO many dollars.  

I’m talking, as many dollars as it would take to allow me the financial freedom to carefully pick freelance writing gigs from a beach in Bali.

Unfortunately for me, this is not the case. I am left without their dollars and doomed to be a human composting bin for their proclamations about my life. I would argue that I should be able to invoice folks for this service. After all, I am providing them a receptacle for the projected views they have about their own lives. 

It’s not a crazy concept. I don’t see people hesitating to pay for garbage and recycling services but as soon as I tell them what they are dumping on me is actually their own trash, I’m the asshole.

Regardless of the monetary advantage, this composting bin of mine seems to have reached capacity. I have been receiving people’s stagnant and putrid comments for quite a few years and am full to the brim. 

Digesting these projections caused me to pursue a life I did not feel connected to and eventually, that disconnect grew too big.

When I told my doctor about it, her answer was antidepressants. We did not address why I was having panic attacks and constant sadness. 

When I told a friend about it, her answer was work is work not fun. We did not talk about why I did not want to get out of bed in the morning.

And when I told my old boss about it, her answer was everybody wants more time out of the office. We did not talk about why I had stress rashes on my body every day.

The thing is, it wasn’t their job to ask me why. It was mine. When my life became too heavy, I thought they had answers because I thought what my gut wanted was wrong.

When what you want is too big or too scary or too different, some people will tell it's not possible because from their small perspectives it is not.

I did not take the antidepressants and I did not keep doing the job I hated and I did not spend one more moment in that office because the saving of myself was up to me. 

Only I could do that job and only I could decide how it needed to be done. 

My advice to you is, every time someone tells you that’s not a real job or people like you can’t do that, just throw that shit in the compost bin and send them their invoice. 

Making your life is up to you and if you leave it to other people all they will give you is trash.