It’s come to my attention that I have a fear of commitment.
Oh no, not in relationships. I’m rather ferociously loyal in those. No, I mean I can’t settle down with just any one organization. Or let’s call a spade a spade, a job. The idea of sticking with one job, day-in and day-out, terrifies me.
Admittedly, this is strange since I’m really quite fond of money—I just have a problem being happy in one place for long. Which is fine, some folks are free spirits who want to try on different jobs, experience new things, move around, keep their options open, etc..
But I’m not one of them. I typically hate change—it keeps me up at night and even with a solid figure in the savings account, the idea of not having a constant and reliable income scares the hell out of me. At the same time, after a while in one place I start climbing the walls and pulling my hair out. Every little thing becomes this constant aching pressure inside me, racketing up my anxiety to near panic attack levels. I lose patience with the people, my stress levels skyrocket, and the only thing that keeps me going is the prospect of being able to escape.
Job listings become a cup of hot tea at the end of a trying day. Offering me glimpses at freedom to fill me full of thoughts of:
“I could go someplace else! The grass is greener and dear God please don’t keep me trapped here.”
And I know I’m not alone. Most of us hate our jobs, at least part of the time, and being a part of a generation of unemployed or underemployed youths, we’re probably even more prone to dreaming about escape than others. Or we’re so narcissistic we just think that’s true.
I’ve yet to find a place that I can settle into for years on end, perhaps because I’ve yet to find the career I want to do for the rest of my life. But the idea of starting over somewhere new is nearly as daunting as staying where I am. So I keep on stalking Craigslist, commiserating with my friends on how we are all miserable and want to do something else, and trying to remind myself that I should be thankful that I have gainful employment and options—even if they aren’t the kind that I want. I tell my stomach to settle down when I wake up in dread each morning and avert my eyes from my passport that’s calling at me to just grab it and run away.
I’m a responsible adult. I like stability. I can’t run away. And greener pastures only got that way from being fertilized with shit.