What’s in a career, really? I ‘spose you get security and free stationery, but there’s something about even the word ‘career’ that sets me sweating and having palpitations.
I’m writing this because, right now, I’ve got a strange mix of money-making ventures and it’s something we don’t often talk about; y’know, it’s not really accepted.
I’m copywriting (one I’m particularly proud of), acting as a data entry bod (yawn), teaching yoga (ommmmm), supplying the (mostly unwilling) public with food samples in supermarkets, making the odd map for my dad (it’s a long story. Suffice to say he’s been making money from walking for ages), and *attempting* to convince some forward-thinking Yorkshire folk that happy employees is a thing you can actually pay for (please). It’s certainly a medley.
And society expects that I’ll settle down into a nice, ‘forever job’ soon, right? Probably in a grey office, overlooking a grey street, where plants and souls go to die (seriously, if you work somewhere like this, drop me a line – I can help).
(I actually wrote at length about this on here around a year ago. But it was so scathing that I reckoned it might ruin my chances of getting one of those shitty jobs, so I was advised to take it down. I actually did get one of those jobs. It was *so* shitty, two-weeks in I stole a highlighter and legged it.)
So, I’m not saying I’ve got the money-making key here or anything. And actually it’s a bit of a struggle at times – some of my jobs really suck. But, y’know what? I’m actually pretty happy. I’ve still got a soul and I’m currently surrounded by loads of flourishing house plants.
Don’t be forced into careers, you guys. They steal your lives from you, if you let them. Go grow some stuff and love your Mondays.
Over and out for now. Be awesome.