I’m feeling incredibly prolific, writing-wise, these past few days.
I know exactly what it is, too. It’s my new job. More specifically, the rush that came with being offered a position that I truly believe in my heart to be a perfect match. And even more, the relief that comes after weeks of waiting.
For weeks I would check my messages three times daily while at work, each time hoping for that elusive call that would offer me a job – and, ultimately, a way out of my current situation, a situation that has frustrated me for the last couple months. I got into the habit of checking my home e-mail account from work every couple of hours. It was the first thing I would do upon returning home; regardless of how long I’d been gone.
Waiting is a hard thing to do, especially when you’ve got a myriad of personal feelings wrapped up in it. I was hopeful – hopeful of getting an opportunity to put my writing skills to use. I was eager – eager to start, eager to impress, eager to switch careers and head down a road I’ve sought out for years.
Most of all I was becoming frustrated. I knew that this job was within my reach. I could extend my arm a bit and take full hold of it, but unfortunately there was a thin film impeding my grip. Meanwhile, my arm was being stabbed, continuously and slightly, by my current position, a situation that I was just as excited to get out of. Getting hired as a copywriter wasn’t an escape route. But an opportunity to leave my current job certainly added to the hopefulness, and it was a very positive side effect to breaking into the writing business.
And a breakthrough it was. By small increments I picked away at that film that held me back from my desired position until, finally, it broke. Finally, there was nothing that could hold me back.
With that, everything washed away. I had spent the last three weeks in a sullen state about what I had chosen as an intermediate career. I was demoralized by crumbling communication, by the possibility of a complete restructuring and by an incredible feeling of waste. Some people become depressed because they’re not successful at what they do. I am successful, but I don’t like what I’m doing.
Sometimes I think that being successful in something you dislike can be a completely somber experience – the worst kind of disappointment. I have skills that I want to put to use, but until recently I was never given the tools to accentuate them. I was bogged down by a completely functional, yet hardly satisfying, career. Being nearly free of it has really opened up the emotions. I don’t think I’ve been this happy with what I do to make money since being hired at Best Buy at the age of 16.
As I said before, this is a sort of renaissance for me, a personal enlightenment. I’m going to be working with what I want to work with – not children, not supervisory duties, but with words. Precious words. The light that concludes this tunnel has been brightened considerably. I’m proud of what I’ve become. I feel as though I wouldn’t mind having my career be a subtle piece of my personality – Corey Vilhauer, writer.
Relief comes in many forms. But regardless of how it shows up, it’s always welcome.