What's that grinding sound? Is that my soul?

I've complained a lot about my job lately. I know its getting old. You are all sick of my whining. Sorry. I need one more little rant and then I think I am good to move on to other matters. I read something the other day that made me think about why I hate my job. Why does it feel like my soul is being crushed? Why do I itch to move on?

I've had jobs that were more demeaning, paid less, and required more labor. I've had bosses I couldn't stand. My current boss is actually quite pleasant. I work fifty or more hours a week, but I held a full time job while taking a full load at school, so it isn't just about the time either. I thought about it quite a bit yesterday and this morning and I have come to a decision.

The real reason I am unhappy with my job is because it does not align with any of my personal ideals. I love to do multiple things. You should have noticed by now that I jump around when it comes to hobbies. I carve, draw, write, paint, refinish furniture, am building a teardrop trailer, and delve into science. I love to learn and create. I love to make abstract things in my head into real tangible objects. I love progress, new cutting edge technologies. I love to see something old and broken become beautiful and useful once more. These things feed my soul and engender joy in the deepest part of who I am.

My career in Hotel Management does not. It ultimately serves little purpose, creates nothing, and does not push any envelope of progression. I have read many blogs lately about great epiphanies where people have successfully quit their jobs to start something new and exciting. They became entrepreneurs, started their own businesses, explored their artistic sides, or just moved on to a better career. I didn't buy it. They fell flat on my internal ears. I'm a creative pragmatist. I haven't had a great life altering epiphany nor am I looking for one. I do not need to reinvent myself. I don't think quitting a job will suddenly bring me all the happiness I could ever want. In truth, I am happy with who I am. I just wish I could be myself more often.

So, I was wrong about the soul crushing. I understand that now. My soul is not being pulped under the weight of my work or ground down by the mind numbing monotony of the piled on hours. I thought a lack of recognition, raises, or promotions added extra pounds to the soul squishing. These descriptions are inaccurate. My soul is not being crushed. Starved is closer to the truth. My job crowds out the things that I love, the things that make me happy at the deepest level. I'm going to try not to complain about my job as much. I will find ways to feed my malnourished soul until I find a job that makes doing so easier.

Put on Notice

I am a little near sighted. I wear glasses to drive. It doesn't mean much more than that. I have to take my glasses off to read, eat, or deal with anything close up. I can hold a piece of coconut shell up and see the tiniest lines, cracks, and patterns. I think it makes me a better artist.

It also means I notice things...random things, little things. This blog will be a near sighted writer's perspective on the world. I intend to make you see things in new ways and experience the world in all its tiny majesty and wonder. Yes, I may occasionally mention large scale things of note. I wear glasses after all and can see into the distance just fine with augmentation.

Today's World Notice is grain. Not those chunks in your sandwich bread or what your doctor told you to eat more of whole. I'm talking wood people. Next time you sit down at your kitchen table, sit in your passed down rocking chair, or find yourself in a job interview across from an intimidating woman in a pinstripe suit sitting at some ancient desk...look at the grain.

That is life etched into the surface of that chunk of lumber. Years of growth as minerals and water were pulled from the earth. It is dry seasons and wet seasons, fire, wind, the migration of birds, the relentless movement of the sun. Run your hand across it. Feel the minute ridges and grooves. Feel the warmth of the wood, the smooth gloss from polish and use. It is more than just a pretty stain. The grain of the wood is there to remind us that time marches on. Time leaves its marks.

We can see the ridges and lines on our exterior surface as we age, but we cannot see the marks left within ourselves. As time flows away into the past behind us, marks are left inside each one of us. My soul is lined and knotted with my past mistakes, golden with my triumphs. Oh, what a pretty desk I would make...