That’s the sound of me hitting the window pane, like a bird trapped in a room trying to escape.
It’s also the sound of me losing it over my job. This morning the thought of going to work left me feeling sick – with stress, dread, I don’t know what. I was saying only a few days ago I don’t know how long I can go on wanting to burst into tears at 8am.
The people I work with are amazing but what I do all day, every day is not. Partly because it’s not my company and partly because I’m almost out of what I have to give. From the minute I get to work until I go home I’m supposed to make my clients happy. If they were happy they wouldn’t call me but this is IT so there’s always something not working, a question to ask, a report to run, a resource to find or a stuff up to fix. There’s always a call to make and an answer to find.
I’m lucky my job isn’t personal, or I don’t take it personally anyway. I know it’s business and I’m just the conduit, no-one abuses me, in fact my clients are lovely, if grumpy.
The problem is the sheer volume of demands.
I didn’t think it affected my life that much until I realised I was putting up with a dodgy Internet connection because by the time I came home, I didn’t have the heart to pick up the phone and become the complainer. I put up with it right up until I knocked my laptop off the couch, buggared the wireless internet usb (not my beloved Macbook air luckily – hardy beast it is) and had to go and collect a new one in person. In person and without a single complaint required. I loved that.
At work I feel like I’m like a feather in a jet stream. There isn’t much chance of a feather harnessing the wind and so its flung from one updraft to another. That’s my day, every day.
This is the thing about my job, about anything really, we can give so much, our whole hearts when it fills us with contentment, joy, belief, but we can’t sustain that when we don’t love what we do. I used to love what I do, it fulfilled a lot of needs but then as I let a lot of beliefs go, the love affair ended.
Curiously though t I’m not planning on quitting my job. Doing so doesn’t feel right. I’m not afraid of quitting but I don’t see the point now.
What I do see the point of is stepping back from the glass, opening my eyes and looking for the open window. Like the bird, I hope I find the wisdom, and grace, to still my frantic wings and see the wide open doorway, the one that’s been there all along, just waiting for me to fly into the blue.