Taking stock

It’s been exactly four months to the day since I left my job at the charity-that-shall-remain-nameless and I’m still feeling the effects of having been there. I start a new job on Monday and all the self-doubt I left my previous position carrying is now creeping back in and haunting me. I half expect to turn and see a little scabrous imp sitting on my shoulder gnashing its teeth while it whispers in my ear.

The good news is that I’ve come to realize that my problem is that I get caught up, that I let myself believe, as everyone around me seems to believe, that what I’m doing is “vitally important” when, in reality, my mother’s dictum about work is, and always was, correct:

Work is not your life.

Work exists to finance the rest of your life

What I’ve had to discover on my own is:

1. While work is work, and it may be not exactly how I’d like to be spending my day, I’m quite attached to the nice money thanks.
2. While work is work, and it may be not exactly how I’d like to be spending my day, there’s a big difference between “work” and “sheer hell.”
3. There is no shame in demanding adequate compensation for the job I’m asked to do.
4. With firm grasp on the difference between work and hell, if it feels like I’m being put upon, I am.
5. And, last, but by no means least: if there is no “rest of your life” it’s time to find another job.