Is There a Job for Me?

When I was little, I certainly never thought "I want a completely pointless and useless job when I grow up. I want to push papers around and re-type documents and sit in my air conditioned office on my bum and watch the natural world outside of a window that doesn't open."

A few weeks ago, sitting in said office, staring out said un-opening window, I wrote this:

I wonder what it is that makes me impossible to please at work. Like an unhappy and ridiculously picky suitor I hone in on each and every negative workplace nuance and explore it until there is nothing left but an empty shell. “Too boring. Too stressful. Too beneath me. The expect me to do what?” I’m quite a princess in the workplace. Maybe it comes from having such a great home life. Often the people who thrive at work, especially those who overwork or let their entire lives revolve around their jobs, are those with less harmonious home lives. They work so hard and give so much because there is nothing at home for them to look for. Maybe it’s because I’m so happy in my little colorful nest, so happy with my sweet, calm husband and furry pets and cool family, that I find it so difficult to find happiness at work. I’m not sure, but would love to solve this mystery once and for all.
I know other people who dislike their jobs, but somehow they just keep plugging away at them, year after tedious year. In a way I envy those people. They know how to really make it stick. They know how to tough it out. When the going gets tough they don’t run away, resume flapping in hand. They stay put and meet the challenges head-on, or at least hibernate quietly until they are over. There must be a certain security that comes from that. A certain feeling of pride that they toughed it out, they didn’t let work get the best of them.
I’ve never had that feeling. When the days get rough, I start scanning the want ads. Maybe THIS time, it will be the right place. Maybe here it will be different… It never is. Of course, I rationally know that no place is perfect. There will never be a group of people that you completely get along with, never a place with extra high staff morale and positive, thrilling work that excites you everyday. I know this, rationally. But some part of me keeps thinking Is this it, then? This is the best it’s going to be? Really? Because some whimsical, unrealistic, dreamy part of me doesn’t want to believe it. Doesn’t want to believe that work means lists of menial tasks, coworkers who don’t share your point of view (or any opinions other than their own), and sleepy afternoons when you want to lay your head down on your keyboard and have a nap (or a good cry). Part of me refuses to believe that work has to feel like drudgery and that bosses can treat you like a gnat, change the rules at any given moment and then wait for you to smile and nod your approval. Part of me can’t believe that for the next thirty-odd years, this is life. Bland space, windows that won’t open, bosses who don’t respect, desk drawers that stick, coworkers moans rising in unison, nominal raises with a pat on the head. Can it really be true? Is it too much to ask for work that makes you feel fulfilled and proud? A job that gives a little back when you put so much into it? Long vacations and well wishes? Color and light and beauty and fulfillment?
Maybe in fact, it is too much to ask. But you know what? I’m asking anyway.

And I am asking. Only very quietly and a little too timidly at the moment. Changing careers is a very scary thing and starting over where you know nothing and no one and, may feel completely incompetant is very scary indeed. But if I look back in 5, 10, or 20 years, won't being stuck in the very same place seem scarier still?