a log book of my journey to the stratosphere.

WorktoJob: Genesis

I have been pushed and shoved, stuck, addicted to loneliness and incompetence over the disorganised news, views and visual garbage of ideas of success. All the solutions to having a wonderful life are at my fingertips, but the one’s that matter to me are hidden, far away.

I am inundated with incoherent babble to believe in your idea of having, and grabbing dreams. I was made to believe to work really hard to reach where I have to. I was fed to believe in doing my time, as my youth repent in the complexities of economic employment. I have been made to believe that I can make it if I have education, skills, perseverance, experience and the zest to learn.

But where am I going? Are these job descriptions, profiles and roles the dimension of ‘me’? I have been asked to take a job that takes my soul away. I did. I was asked to do my time, like all the others. I did. So that one day I will be able to spend every waking day to the cause of an institution, an idea, a company, a job, or start my own, but all of it in something that I truly value, and believe in. Something to fulfil my life.

Why should I learn? What do I learn? Did I learn enough? Is this the right way to reach the place I want to? Is this the job for me? Is this the organisation I want to be a part of?

I am broke.

I have been rejected so many times, because of the human behind the profile, the CV, the resume, because they didn’t like it in their first 4 seconds? Either I am not good enough, or my CV doesn’t say so. Maybe my aspirations are way too high. Maybe I am not good for their tasks of stacking shelves. There is no one to guide me. There’s no one to get me set. Understand me, tell me the route to reach where I want, to let me be.

I compromised.

They say that a job isn’t a job, but a way of life. No one will ever know if they stopped their climb or settled somewhere in the brow. And when I reach there, the hallowed doors of a job, I strain and I unlearn to earn a few lines on a piece of paper. I am a labourer, a headcount, a payroll number. I am a role, a process, an expense. But who am I?

Everybody knows things are bad. It’s a depression of the spiritual kind. A data-driven spirituality. A depression caused by people in power, because the powerless are. Everybody’s out of work or scared of losing their job. And there’s nobody anywhere who seems to know what to do, and there’s no end to it. Maybe, it’s not your story. But it’s the story I hear every day. You might care if you’d know that it is so, and you’ll be next.

And as the guy on the TV said, “I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!”

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