ConGRADulations
I'm going to be honest. I've been feeling uninspired in the past while. Uninspired to write, read, and even take photos. A month ago, many changes and events upended my life enough to inspire loads of writing: personal essays, short stories, and poems. Feeling so much stress in my daily thoughts also prompted me to seek escapism through reading books and finding beauty through a camera lens. Since then, my life has slowed down a lot which I admit is likely good for my mental health. I believe I do need a slower pace to my days to reflect and fully process a lot of the feelings I experienced while under stress, as well as to redirect my efforts to starting the career I want. The problem I seem to always have with "down time"--namely, any amount of time loose enough to allow myself to slow my rate of output--is that I feel like I should be doing something productive every minute of every hour to further my career growth, personal growth, or artistic progress. It's almost as if I want to fast-forward my life to the point where I'm actually one hundred percent satisfied with it.
I've often discussed the idea of rest with a dear friend of mine. Having both fallen in love with what seems to be a distinctly European (Italian, in our books) mentality of taking the time to slow down and enjoy the little pockets of happiness in life, we talk about how it compares with the seemingly inescapable North American culture of "work work work" and the product-oriented mentality. Perhaps in coarse terms, the former could be coined as "lazy" and the latter as "workaholic". But I believe it's far more nuanced than that. I believe there is a balance, and I'm just not very good at finding that middle point. It's difficult when social media consistently bombards you with polished photos of friends and strangers alike living their best lives traveling to beautiful destinations, stopping to buy an expensive after-work dinner, celebrating Fridays at the bar with their colleagues and work friends, and embarking on even more expensive weekend getaways to Whistler. It's just as difficult when your boyfriend is a self-proclaimed workaholic and can't seem to spend one day not being at the office in any capacity. I feel like everywhere I turn there will some form of indirect, external judgement waiting to slap me across the face with a rubber glove:
"Hey, lazy! Why don't you have a job yet?"
"Why do your friends neglect you so? Maybe because they're busy ACTUALLY WORKING AT FULL-TIME JOBS."
"Hey loser, you must be a social outcast because no one is inviting you to go to Whistler with them."
A large reason contributing to my lack of inspiration is the disheartening process of career searching. Of course I heard the horror stories of fresh grads being unable to find positions relevant to their education and experience in the current shithole of a job market. Of course I heard about the serious bouts of depression that plagues fresh grads who end up being unemployed for months at a time. Of course I was constantly inundated with light-hearted jokes about English majors working at coffee shops after grad (yes, that came to fruition and I concede that I am a living, breathing stereotype).
Of bloody course I heard it all. Our economy is shot to hell, there are no jobs, and if there are they pay jack for long work hours because who cares about new grads, right? But apparently the cushion of denial was thick as memory foam around me, because I wasn't prepared to undergo a long, drawn out existential crisis. Every. Single. Day. What is my purpose? What if I end up working in a field I hate for the rest of my life because there are no job openings in the sector I do want? What if I never find work I feel passionate about? What if I get scammed at the company I sign on to? What if I never make a difference in my job? What if my boyfriend's workaholic lifestyle is something I can't learn to adapt to? What if I can't learn to care about my work? What if I'm just lazy? What if I should be in Europe living a slow lifestyle in a bankrupt country that speaks a foreign language I don't speak? What if I society shuns me because I'm a social and financial failure?
Uninspired indeed. It's no wonder when my mind is preoccupied with de-motivating thoughts like these. Eh, who knows. Maybe it's just a slump. Maybe it'll be the rest of my life.
I've often discussed the idea of rest with a dear friend of mine. Having both fallen in love with what seems to be a distinctly European (Italian, in our books) mentality of taking the time to slow down and enjoy the little pockets of happiness in life, we talk about how it compares with the seemingly inescapable North American culture of "work work work" and the product-oriented mentality. Perhaps in coarse terms, the former could be coined as "lazy" and the latter as "workaholic". But I believe it's far more nuanced than that. I believe there is a balance, and I'm just not very good at finding that middle point. It's difficult when social media consistently bombards you with polished photos of friends and strangers alike living their best lives traveling to beautiful destinations, stopping to buy an expensive after-work dinner, celebrating Fridays at the bar with their colleagues and work friends, and embarking on even more expensive weekend getaways to Whistler. It's just as difficult when your boyfriend is a self-proclaimed workaholic and can't seem to spend one day not being at the office in any capacity. I feel like everywhere I turn there will some form of indirect, external judgement waiting to slap me across the face with a rubber glove:
"Hey, lazy! Why don't you have a job yet?"
"Why do your friends neglect you so? Maybe because they're busy ACTUALLY WORKING AT FULL-TIME JOBS."
"Hey loser, you must be a social outcast because no one is inviting you to go to Whistler with them."
A large reason contributing to my lack of inspiration is the disheartening process of career searching. Of course I heard the horror stories of fresh grads being unable to find positions relevant to their education and experience in the current shithole of a job market. Of course I heard about the serious bouts of depression that plagues fresh grads who end up being unemployed for months at a time. Of course I was constantly inundated with light-hearted jokes about English majors working at coffee shops after grad (yes, that came to fruition and I concede that I am a living, breathing stereotype).
Of bloody course I heard it all. Our economy is shot to hell, there are no jobs, and if there are they pay jack for long work hours because who cares about new grads, right? But apparently the cushion of denial was thick as memory foam around me, because I wasn't prepared to undergo a long, drawn out existential crisis. Every. Single. Day. What is my purpose? What if I end up working in a field I hate for the rest of my life because there are no job openings in the sector I do want? What if I never find work I feel passionate about? What if I get scammed at the company I sign on to? What if I never make a difference in my job? What if my boyfriend's workaholic lifestyle is something I can't learn to adapt to? What if I can't learn to care about my work? What if I'm just lazy? What if I should be in Europe living a slow lifestyle in a bankrupt country that speaks a foreign language I don't speak? What if I society shuns me because I'm a social and financial failure?
Uninspired indeed. It's no wonder when my mind is preoccupied with de-motivating thoughts like these. Eh, who knows. Maybe it's just a slump. Maybe it'll be the rest of my life.
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