I'm feeling a little weak, identity-wise.
It's probably because my life these past few months has been my job, which much as I'm putting so much into it because I care about it, I got offered a massive promotion just before Christmas which I still haven't decided on. Well, I think I've decided I'm not taking it, as I'm not quite ready for the commitment. At the risk of sounding a little melodramatic (when has that ever stopped me?), I'm scared of taking the next step. Which is ridiculous, as being Sales Manager would be essentially doing the same thing I'm doing now, with half the hours and double the pay. Bluebelle has really stepped back and let me take over since we discovered I'm good at the job, and care about it a hell of a lot more than she does, so it works out for both of us. And Head Office have requested that I take the training and move up asap, which is a massive compliment, and I risk screwing up my chances within the company because by rejecting the opportunity now I may never be offered it again. But something is holding me back. It may be fear, just simply fear of failure. But I don't think it is - I've been doing the job for the last 2 months anyway, just without the title. Or the wages. I really think I'm just not ready for the commitment.
Which is also ridiculous, as me and the team are already discussing what we're doing with the bar next Christmas, implying we all assume I'm still going to be there this time next year, which I'm more than happy to commit to - it's the emotional commitment. Knowing I belong to a company. That I'll have to answer to people beyond my immediate team, that I'll be titled and assessed and integrated, and that I could be moved to another bar at any given time because someone at Head Office who I've never met has decided I'd be better elsewhere.. Once you have manager status, they own you. I don't mind belonging to my bar, I do mind belonging to the company.
Anyway, I guess I'll just see how this one goes. It may be a totally irrelevant discussion in my own head, as we've got a new General Manager starting on Monday which is going to change everything, for the better or worse is yet to be established.
I don't like change, it scares me. And I think I'm scared of getting any more attached to the bar than I already am, because I'm secretly preparing for a time when something changes and I'm no longer comfortable so I get my stuff and leave. Having not invested too much in it will minimise the pain when it's gone, or I've gone. I hope that's not what I'm subconsciously doing, what a terrible emotional philosophy...
I still haven't quite shaken the feeling that I'm a spectator in my own life. Just passively watching things happen, not really feeling like I've caused anything, that I'm waiting for something, for a light to go on, waiting to stumble into my life and go 'Ah! that's where you've been! I'm not really sure where I've been or what I've been doing and why, but I'm here now - let's get this thing started!'
Does everyone feel like this? Or do people actually feel like they're living their lives? I mean I know it's cliched, a disillusioned 20-something waiting for their life to start, but honestly - this can't be... it? Can it?
It must be the curse of the Jack-of-all-trades. I've always been just generally quite good at everything. I'm smart, I've got common sense, I'm friendly, I'm relatively capable - give me any job and I can do it pretty well. I'm smart enough to do most things, but you'll never notice. And it makes life decisions relatively unbearable - the paradox of choice.
It's always been like that - at school, I was the all-rounder. You know the type, seemingly good at everything, but never really excelling at anything. I spent years being good at everything, trying desperately to find something I was great at. Because I'm the sort of person that can't be great at something unless I love it, and will most likely be so thrilled at being great at something that whatever it was, I'd immediately love it. If I could just find something I was great at, I'd be set. Hello happiness and contentment - I've found something to go for. I've found my thing.
As it stands, being just pretty good at whatever I do is a massive pain in the arse.
Don't get me wrong, there are things that I love, like music. But I've discovered over the years that you can't make something more than it is, and loving something doesn't immediately mean that you want it. It's easy to romanticise the arts, but it takes a hell of a lot of strength & disregard to go down that road, and when I did I fell at every hurdle. Now I'm too weak, and too responsible to continue. Years of picking myself up and trying to jump the hurdles with a broken leg and a broken heart taught me to know when you're beaten. Music and I are going to remain old friends, but it's taken all out of me that I can give, so I'm going to persevere in trying to move on.
But, where to move on to..?
I'm the closest to finding a career path now than I've been before - even with psychology I was never anywhere near this clear, it never felt as mine as this does, but still.. I'm wary. I know it may seem melodramatic, but I've always known I'm that kind of person, particularly with my deep-set ever-present fear of wasting time, of not having a life worthy of all the many lives I've ever dreamed of, that a job is never going to be 'just a job' to me. If I'm going to spend literally half, if not most, of my time doing something, it better be worth a damn.
Plus, the mentality of 9-5 work, living pay-cheque to pay-cheque, living for the weekend, terrifies me. It may be the subconscious trauma of growing up and noticing that every woman I ever came into contact with lived the same life. Every Filipina woman I met was interchangeable, whether they were 25 or 55, they seemed to me the exact same person. Growing up in the slums/mountains, having a child or 2, getting married, moving abroad to work like a dog to send money home, living the prime of their lives in a strange city where nothing has any meaning beyond money, how they can get it, how they can stop from spending it, how they can afford to feed themselves and still have enough to send their husband back home who is now a lazy drunk, and the baby they left who is now a full-grown teenager that they've barely seen, until they gradually became older, then too old to clean rich people's houses, so die cold and alone and far from the family they'd spent years paying for but never really knew, or - even scarier to me - the women who became empty husks of people that had, and I remember these clearly, the ones with the look of defeat in their eyes. No, not even defeat.. acceptance. The look in their eyes of people who had long accepted their fate. The look of caged birds, who had never imagined the wind in their feathers, who had never dreamt of freedom.
That look has haunted me my entire life. The acceptance, the ignorance, the lack of fight - I have the luxury to be able to imagine more for myself, to demand more from my life, and if I don't take that and do something with it, then I spit in the faces of all those women. Those glass-eyed, deadened, colourless women whose lives were spent getting by. Who were once young, but with seemingly only one path to walk, and walked it willingly, fully accepting of their fate, or rather their lack of fate, their lack of story, of colour, of music. You live, you work, you eat, you die. And I'll be damned if I don't walk my very own path and look back knowing I lived a real life. Full of colour.
The thought of knowing all of this yet spending my 20's finding any job to get me by so I can afford to pay rent and occasionally go down the pub and wonder what I'm going to be when I grow up, then spending my 30's saving whatever money I can in whatever job I've ended up settling for, just for the meantime, to buy a house and pay a mortgage and take that holiday I've been putting off for ages, then spending my 40s in a house I bought because it was a good investment at the time and it was close to schools for the children I never planned for, having forgotten about the holidays I once planned to take, and the career I once wanted, then spending my 50s wondering where my life went and didn't I once have the world at my feet..? I'm pretty sure this fear is the root of all my various inner turmoils.
I'm also pretty sure that I'm doing fuck all about it.
I hope somehow I do end up being the kind of person I always dreamed of being when I was 14. When I was young at heart, before I grew up and was faced with actually having to be who you wanted to be when you grew up. Knowing that the 14-yr-old you, if she ever saw what she was to become, would be so disappointed.
But hey, the 14 yr old me never had to pay rent, or bills, or plan for the future - what did she know? Fuck her, the lazy idealist.
(At least she knew who she was, and what she wanted..
At least she was trying to find her colour.)
It's probably because my life these past few months has been my job, which much as I'm putting so much into it because I care about it, I got offered a massive promotion just before Christmas which I still haven't decided on. Well, I think I've decided I'm not taking it, as I'm not quite ready for the commitment. At the risk of sounding a little melodramatic (when has that ever stopped me?), I'm scared of taking the next step. Which is ridiculous, as being Sales Manager would be essentially doing the same thing I'm doing now, with half the hours and double the pay. Bluebelle has really stepped back and let me take over since we discovered I'm good at the job, and care about it a hell of a lot more than she does, so it works out for both of us. And Head Office have requested that I take the training and move up asap, which is a massive compliment, and I risk screwing up my chances within the company because by rejecting the opportunity now I may never be offered it again. But something is holding me back. It may be fear, just simply fear of failure. But I don't think it is - I've been doing the job for the last 2 months anyway, just without the title. Or the wages. I really think I'm just not ready for the commitment.
Which is also ridiculous, as me and the team are already discussing what we're doing with the bar next Christmas, implying we all assume I'm still going to be there this time next year, which I'm more than happy to commit to - it's the emotional commitment. Knowing I belong to a company. That I'll have to answer to people beyond my immediate team, that I'll be titled and assessed and integrated, and that I could be moved to another bar at any given time because someone at Head Office who I've never met has decided I'd be better elsewhere.. Once you have manager status, they own you. I don't mind belonging to my bar, I do mind belonging to the company.
Anyway, I guess I'll just see how this one goes. It may be a totally irrelevant discussion in my own head, as we've got a new General Manager starting on Monday which is going to change everything, for the better or worse is yet to be established.
I don't like change, it scares me. And I think I'm scared of getting any more attached to the bar than I already am, because I'm secretly preparing for a time when something changes and I'm no longer comfortable so I get my stuff and leave. Having not invested too much in it will minimise the pain when it's gone, or I've gone. I hope that's not what I'm subconsciously doing, what a terrible emotional philosophy...
I still haven't quite shaken the feeling that I'm a spectator in my own life. Just passively watching things happen, not really feeling like I've caused anything, that I'm waiting for something, for a light to go on, waiting to stumble into my life and go 'Ah! that's where you've been! I'm not really sure where I've been or what I've been doing and why, but I'm here now - let's get this thing started!'
Does everyone feel like this? Or do people actually feel like they're living their lives? I mean I know it's cliched, a disillusioned 20-something waiting for their life to start, but honestly - this can't be... it? Can it?
It must be the curse of the Jack-of-all-trades. I've always been just generally quite good at everything. I'm smart, I've got common sense, I'm friendly, I'm relatively capable - give me any job and I can do it pretty well. I'm smart enough to do most things, but you'll never notice. And it makes life decisions relatively unbearable - the paradox of choice.
It's always been like that - at school, I was the all-rounder. You know the type, seemingly good at everything, but never really excelling at anything. I spent years being good at everything, trying desperately to find something I was great at. Because I'm the sort of person that can't be great at something unless I love it, and will most likely be so thrilled at being great at something that whatever it was, I'd immediately love it. If I could just find something I was great at, I'd be set. Hello happiness and contentment - I've found something to go for. I've found my thing.
As it stands, being just pretty good at whatever I do is a massive pain in the arse.
Don't get me wrong, there are things that I love, like music. But I've discovered over the years that you can't make something more than it is, and loving something doesn't immediately mean that you want it. It's easy to romanticise the arts, but it takes a hell of a lot of strength & disregard to go down that road, and when I did I fell at every hurdle. Now I'm too weak, and too responsible to continue. Years of picking myself up and trying to jump the hurdles with a broken leg and a broken heart taught me to know when you're beaten. Music and I are going to remain old friends, but it's taken all out of me that I can give, so I'm going to persevere in trying to move on.
But, where to move on to..?
I'm the closest to finding a career path now than I've been before - even with psychology I was never anywhere near this clear, it never felt as mine as this does, but still.. I'm wary. I know it may seem melodramatic, but I've always known I'm that kind of person, particularly with my deep-set ever-present fear of wasting time, of not having a life worthy of all the many lives I've ever dreamed of, that a job is never going to be 'just a job' to me. If I'm going to spend literally half, if not most, of my time doing something, it better be worth a damn.
Plus, the mentality of 9-5 work, living pay-cheque to pay-cheque, living for the weekend, terrifies me. It may be the subconscious trauma of growing up and noticing that every woman I ever came into contact with lived the same life. Every Filipina woman I met was interchangeable, whether they were 25 or 55, they seemed to me the exact same person. Growing up in the slums/mountains, having a child or 2, getting married, moving abroad to work like a dog to send money home, living the prime of their lives in a strange city where nothing has any meaning beyond money, how they can get it, how they can stop from spending it, how they can afford to feed themselves and still have enough to send their husband back home who is now a lazy drunk, and the baby they left who is now a full-grown teenager that they've barely seen, until they gradually became older, then too old to clean rich people's houses, so die cold and alone and far from the family they'd spent years paying for but never really knew, or - even scarier to me - the women who became empty husks of people that had, and I remember these clearly, the ones with the look of defeat in their eyes. No, not even defeat.. acceptance. The look in their eyes of people who had long accepted their fate. The look of caged birds, who had never imagined the wind in their feathers, who had never dreamt of freedom.
That look has haunted me my entire life. The acceptance, the ignorance, the lack of fight - I have the luxury to be able to imagine more for myself, to demand more from my life, and if I don't take that and do something with it, then I spit in the faces of all those women. Those glass-eyed, deadened, colourless women whose lives were spent getting by. Who were once young, but with seemingly only one path to walk, and walked it willingly, fully accepting of their fate, or rather their lack of fate, their lack of story, of colour, of music. You live, you work, you eat, you die. And I'll be damned if I don't walk my very own path and look back knowing I lived a real life. Full of colour.
The thought of knowing all of this yet spending my 20's finding any job to get me by so I can afford to pay rent and occasionally go down the pub and wonder what I'm going to be when I grow up, then spending my 30's saving whatever money I can in whatever job I've ended up settling for, just for the meantime, to buy a house and pay a mortgage and take that holiday I've been putting off for ages, then spending my 40s in a house I bought because it was a good investment at the time and it was close to schools for the children I never planned for, having forgotten about the holidays I once planned to take, and the career I once wanted, then spending my 50s wondering where my life went and didn't I once have the world at my feet..? I'm pretty sure this fear is the root of all my various inner turmoils.
I'm also pretty sure that I'm doing fuck all about it.
I hope somehow I do end up being the kind of person I always dreamed of being when I was 14. When I was young at heart, before I grew up and was faced with actually having to be who you wanted to be when you grew up. Knowing that the 14-yr-old you, if she ever saw what she was to become, would be so disappointed.
But hey, the 14 yr old me never had to pay rent, or bills, or plan for the future - what did she know? Fuck her, the lazy idealist.
(At least she knew who she was, and what she wanted..
At least she was trying to find her colour.)
