I’ve Decided To Quit My Job(s) And Become A Blogger
Two months ago, I was working at the same place I had worked at since I was sixteen, which left me completely despondent and devoid of hope. Two weeks ago, I had a new job that felt fresh, invigorating, and inviting. Today, I have quit both of those jobs and instead see the prospect of blogging as a sustainable outlet. Let me explain:
I’m dumb as hell. If there was an International Dumb Guy Competition, I would misread the invitation and think there was an International Dumbo Guy Competition happening, and I would toss the invite aside because my ears aren’t that big. That’s how dumb I am.
As a substantially dumb man, I like seeing comfortable choices in life that most people would look at and say, “This is very secure and comforting and it makes my life noticeably easier,” and instead say, “I bet if I bought a tiger, I wouldn’t have nearly as many problems as I do now.” The idea of wasting my life and settling for something easy and comforting is repulsive to me. I need instability. I need uncertainty. I need to feel like I’m permanently one choice away from either living the fulfilling life I’ve always wanted to or just straight up fucking exploding. There’s no in-between — I need to feel like I’m either right on the cusp of greatness or like my general ineptitude is gonna make me puke so hard I explode and die.
My jobs have been comfortable both in terms of position and pay. I worked retail from ages 16–21 where my daily life was monotonous, painstaking, and most of all: tempting. Working retail is genuinely, unironically hard, but it’s even harder when you like to cope with retail therapy, and working retail gives you plenty to cope over. I met some of my best friends while working retail, but I also made some of my worst enemies. One of my best friends I’ve ever had is a guy I worked with for two years before he became my boss, which somehow just strengthened our friendship even more. One of my worst enemies was every old person. Literally all of them.
After almost exactly four years of working retail, I finally saw my first real opportunity to get out, and I wasn’t gonna pass up an opportunity to escape Hell. I took a job that required 5–10 hours of driving every day. As it turns out, 5–10 hours of driving every day is actually also Hell; Hell is not exclusive to retail. I worked there for an agonizingly long two weeks, being on-call everyday. I would try to start my day productively only to have it interrupted by someone asking me to drive all over the state of Indiana until 10PM. Almost every aspect of it made me miserable, but none were quite as misery-inducing as the “all over the state of Indiana” part.
On the last day, I made two deliveries and was ready to call it a day when I got a call saying they were being “slammed,” and could use my help to make more deliveries. Being a pushover, I said I would help, and I would call them when I was close to the pickup location. I pulled up to an intersection, dreading doing more deliveries. If I went straight, I was essentially locked into this job. If I turned right, I would be giving up on the job and going home.
You know how in a lot of movies, the protagonist usually has that one scene where the finally break free — be it from a job or a relationship or the antagonist causing them strife? It’s a trope that’s tried, true, and thoroughly beat into the ground in this day and age. But let me tell you: that shit is absolutely real. Instead of going straight and continuing with the job, I turned right and I know I could have killed God in that moment.
In that moment, it was just me and my 2017 Nissan Versa that I accidentally drove for 11,000 miles over the recommended amount that required an oil change. I genuinely have never felt that great in my life. Could it have been mania? Oh absolutely. Was it probably just mania? Fuckin’ yeah, probably, I don’t know. Who cares!? The point is this: I feel free. For now. I’m not saddled with responsibility. I’m not saddled with expectations. I’m not saddled with “employment.” I simply exist.
That’s not to say I don’t have a plan. My plan is to write for a month. I’ve never really just had an extended period of time where I can write and feel secure in my writing, so I’m using this time off to grow my writing ability and portfolio. Then, I will furiously shop it around and hope it lands me that big Hollywood writing job I’ve always wanted. But when it doesn’t, I will simply go back to my retail job because I love the people there. But so help me God, I will fist fight every old person that gets in my way there.
