What Color is My Parachute?
I've been thinking about a job change. Not because I'm dissatisfied with my current job; far from it. I like it a lot, and am looking forward to another year here. But in looking beyond this next year, I don't know if I'll want to stay a third year, and if I do, it will certainly be my last, barring some major change.
I've been trying to figure out what I might want to do after this work, but everything I've thought of so far doesn't sound like a good long-term plan. Then I got to thinking tonight: Maybe, when it comes to work, I'm not a long-term plan kind of girl.
I've actually known this for a while. But, looking back, I see that my job tolerance generally has a three-year arc.
Year 1: The job I've chosen is complex, requiring not only many different administrative and communication skills, but lots of work with people. (This is true of every job I've had since I graduated college.) The learning curve is steep; I'm super-busy the first year, and everyone who knows me is amazed that anyone could be happy in such a demanding job. Also, friends tell me that they think I will learn a lot, which I do.
Year 2: I feel good. I know the work, I have plans for improvements, I sail through with ease. Coasting, really. Still happy in the work.
Year 3: I am bored. It has become old hat, no longer a challenge--and my job performance starts to slip. It's too easy and it's stale, and I start looking for something else.
The last two jobs I had, I stayed a little longer than three years (the one for financial reasons and the other because I knew I was going to grad school shortly and it was pointless to start something new). But somewhere between the second and third year, restlessness set in.
It's sad, really. From age 9 to about 20 my whole life was consumed with the idea of becoming an actress. I read countless books, analyzed films and plays, majored in theatre, and did as many roles as I could. That was my lifelong dream--until I realized, somewhere in my junior year of college, that I didn't want to pay the dues required to even possibly make it as an actress. I wanted a steady paycheck and a house and a bourgeois life. Then I hit on the happy idea of becoming a professor. My interests were wide-ranging, though, and I thought I might be interested in being an English or history professor rather than theatre. Indecisive to the last, I finally ended up getting a Master's in English, and teaching college for three years...only to get fed up with the politics and narrowness of academia. In short, I was too bored to stick with it; thank God I wasn't halfway through a PhD program before I figured it out.
Cut to the present. My current job is much more bohemian than bourgeois, and while it has the same general characteristics as my other work, it's not anything I ever saw myself doing. The problem is, I know it has a shelf life. I'll either burn out or wear out, whichever happens first. And what then?
Tonight was one of those existential dramas where I thought, "Am I a pathetic, shallow person, with no fixity of purpose? How can I possibly get bored after only three years in one job? And why can't I figure out work I could settle into, for the long term?"
I have this discussion with myself on a regular basis. Once in a while I'm in a good mood, and I say, "Well, that's just the sort of person you are: a job-hopper. Get used to it. And it doesn't mean you're shallow or inconstant; it just means you have a wide range of interests and you can't be tied down to any one thing for too long."
It's hard to accept that painful truth. Painful, because in all other areas of my life, I am a committer. (Yes, I realize that' s probably not a word.) I am committed to family, to friends (most of whom I've been extremely close to for years), to ideals, and to interests (reading, writing, fashion, and the arts have been part of my identity since childhood). I'm always adding new things, but the old ones stay.
I don't know how to be a bohemian, a fly-by-night, a rolling stone that gathers no moss. I see it as a character flaw--which it doesn't necessarily have to be. Maybe it signals underused creativity. Maybe my short attention span can be put to good use.
Or maybe it doesn't have some deeper meaning. Maybe it's just the way I am, and I should get used to it.
I've been trying to figure out what I might want to do after this work, but everything I've thought of so far doesn't sound like a good long-term plan. Then I got to thinking tonight: Maybe, when it comes to work, I'm not a long-term plan kind of girl.
I've actually known this for a while. But, looking back, I see that my job tolerance generally has a three-year arc.
Year 1: The job I've chosen is complex, requiring not only many different administrative and communication skills, but lots of work with people. (This is true of every job I've had since I graduated college.) The learning curve is steep; I'm super-busy the first year, and everyone who knows me is amazed that anyone could be happy in such a demanding job. Also, friends tell me that they think I will learn a lot, which I do.
Year 2: I feel good. I know the work, I have plans for improvements, I sail through with ease. Coasting, really. Still happy in the work.
Year 3: I am bored. It has become old hat, no longer a challenge--and my job performance starts to slip. It's too easy and it's stale, and I start looking for something else.
The last two jobs I had, I stayed a little longer than three years (the one for financial reasons and the other because I knew I was going to grad school shortly and it was pointless to start something new). But somewhere between the second and third year, restlessness set in.
It's sad, really. From age 9 to about 20 my whole life was consumed with the idea of becoming an actress. I read countless books, analyzed films and plays, majored in theatre, and did as many roles as I could. That was my lifelong dream--until I realized, somewhere in my junior year of college, that I didn't want to pay the dues required to even possibly make it as an actress. I wanted a steady paycheck and a house and a bourgeois life. Then I hit on the happy idea of becoming a professor. My interests were wide-ranging, though, and I thought I might be interested in being an English or history professor rather than theatre. Indecisive to the last, I finally ended up getting a Master's in English, and teaching college for three years...only to get fed up with the politics and narrowness of academia. In short, I was too bored to stick with it; thank God I wasn't halfway through a PhD program before I figured it out.
Cut to the present. My current job is much more bohemian than bourgeois, and while it has the same general characteristics as my other work, it's not anything I ever saw myself doing. The problem is, I know it has a shelf life. I'll either burn out or wear out, whichever happens first. And what then?
Tonight was one of those existential dramas where I thought, "Am I a pathetic, shallow person, with no fixity of purpose? How can I possibly get bored after only three years in one job? And why can't I figure out work I could settle into, for the long term?"
I have this discussion with myself on a regular basis. Once in a while I'm in a good mood, and I say, "Well, that's just the sort of person you are: a job-hopper. Get used to it. And it doesn't mean you're shallow or inconstant; it just means you have a wide range of interests and you can't be tied down to any one thing for too long."
It's hard to accept that painful truth. Painful, because in all other areas of my life, I am a committer. (Yes, I realize that' s probably not a word.) I am committed to family, to friends (most of whom I've been extremely close to for years), to ideals, and to interests (reading, writing, fashion, and the arts have been part of my identity since childhood). I'm always adding new things, but the old ones stay.
I don't know how to be a bohemian, a fly-by-night, a rolling stone that gathers no moss. I see it as a character flaw--which it doesn't necessarily have to be. Maybe it signals underused creativity. Maybe my short attention span can be put to good use.
Or maybe it doesn't have some deeper meaning. Maybe it's just the way I am, and I should get used to it.
posted by Violet at 9:23 PM
2 Comments:
I never thought about it before, but you are like Charming in that way. I always said that if we had been born 100 years earlier, we would have been pioneers, him always wondering What Is Over The Next Ridge?
I think it is a God-given part of your temperament, that, now that you have identified it, you can work "with" it.
And, btw, it doesn't contradict your ability to commit: Look at Charming....but you commit to People, and Ideas, not to a Job. I think you have chosen the better part, butterfly.
Hi
I came to your blog, via your mum GLH. I really liked your post and I think we have a lot in common. Before I was a teacher I was an academic administrator at a large university, and was bored out of my tiny wee mind. I became a secondary English teacher and was never bored in my job again. If you like the challenge of working with people then work in an inner city school teaching English and Drama...then leave and have children before you go completely gaga...blog about teddy bears in aprons and how many cakes you've made...lose sleep over CS Lewis...
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