Nine months before my thirtieth birthday I moved back into my parent’s home. It surprised everyone, even me.
After graduating from college and relinquishing my father’s credit card I did what was expected: got a job, a roommate, an apartment, and set out to create a professional life. It was always understood that I would get a job — more specifically a “real” job. Yoga teacher, lounge singer, or freelance anything was not going to cut it. There were expensive college loans to pay back and from every corner the message came that “it was time.”
My parents certainly thought so, my college professors seemed to as well, and the peer pressure from my fellow graduates was more suffocating than cheap perfume. Those who moved back home, who vacillated on what they wanted, who traveled or attended art school were deemed immature.
So I got into step, shined up my heels, pearls, and gray Ann Taylor suit and scurried into the real “real world.” I moved to Washington, D.C. and earned an entry-level position at a technology-focused public relations agency. It was heady times. Our small office was overflowing with ambitious twenty-somethings and we relished the necessary accoutrements: corporate credit cards, Palm pilots and expensive dinners drenched with wine. Employees and clients were always coming and going, meetings were held on beanbag chairs, and as our dot com clients started to bust so did my sense of the wonders of a professional life. But I soldiered on and found a job at the least likely of places, a small trade association.
It was the exact opposite of the PR agency, budgets were tight and the mood was more formal, presided over by a large gray-haired former White House insider. I was the youngest person on staff. So young in fact that I had to fight with Hertz to secure a rental car when I traveled alone on business. But I was happy. We were a small and scrappy staff serving companies that were equally small and scrappy but also quite endearing. Initially, I felt a sense of pride in working for the little guy — but as time went on boredom began to creep into this lovefest of a job. The boredom abruptly ended however as rumblings started around the office that our money woes were going to affect staff positions
I found a new job and way out just before the lay-offs that would have undoubtedly ended my tenure. My move up from trade to professional association should have been the pinnacle. I had an impressive new title and had successfully doubled my salary since that first agency job. This was my sweet spot, my power position … or not. Within six months I found myself working for a group that prided itself on precision above all, something difficult to reconcile with my creative nature. I soon tired of defending the size of my press release fonts and avoiding my lecherous, sexually harassing office neighbor. It was time for a change, a significant one.
I took a corporate job bigger and better than any of its nonprofit predecessors. The company was well-known and my parents ooo-ed and aahh-ed about the generous salary and benefits. I gave up my office for a cubicle but made more money and traveled to destinations as diverse as Colorado, San Diego and post-Katrina New Orleans. I also gained a hearty new hour and a half commute. At the time I was dating someone seven hours away so this didn’t seem so bad. I quickly whipped through more than fifty books on CD — but I also started to whip through my nerves and sanity.
As with most of my other jobs the work began to feel inconsequential. I questioned why I was spending the majority of my hours, days, weeks, and life doing something that felt meaningless. Yes, I had a respectable job, I made good money, which I used to buy a home and a car, I paid my bills, paid my dues, and had the corporate credit card and cell phone to prove it. I had shiny new business cards and used words like “leverage” and “spearhead.” But in the end I didn’t feel like I was leveraging or spearheading anything.
I felt like I was pushing — pushing paper, pushing myself, and ultimately pushing a lie. When my long distance love dropped me for a job upgrade of his own I turned off the books on CD and used those long rides to think honestly about the state of my life. And I came to the conclusion that with all this pushing something had to give. In the end it was me.
And I did give — I gave up the job and the cell phone, the mortgage and house, and title and business cards and company travel. I gave up the “power.”
But I kept the car. I used it to drive out of the rat race and back to my parents home. In a way it was in the car that I came to terms with the truth. And as soon as I came to terms with that everything changed. After getting dumped myself, I decided to dump the office life. I went to graduate school, something I had been thinking (and talking) about for ten years and started a new career teaching undergraduates. And I have found nothing as empowering as standing in front of a classroom sharing ideas, arguments, discussions and knowledge, wrapped in the certainty that I am making a difference.
Working from home or a cramped shared office, making less than one third of my former salary, with my suits and heels tucked neatly in the back of my closet I have found my power. And it was in the last place I expected.
Need A Jump Start Changing Your Job and Your Life?
Start By Asking Yourself the Following Questions:
- What did you dream of being as a child?
- What careers make you curious? And what careers sound exciting?
- What are your hobbies? What would you do for free?
- What aspects of your job do you excel at? What aspects make you cringe?
- What do friends and coworkers compliment you on?
Consider the answers carefully, they may open the door not only to a change of job but a change of life. And remember, it’s never too late!
Aimee Cirucci is a Writer/Editor & Public Relations Specialist; visit her Web sites at www.cirucci.com; http://twitter.com/acirucci