I Quit my Job

I quit my job.

Does this make me a quitter? I just couldn’t do it anymore. The travel was a nightmare. Three hours starting at 4am in the morning. And then staying like a ricocheting tennis ball here there and everywhere, forgetting half my things and living out of a rucksack for the majority of the week. Not to mention my husband and I are not spending any time together at all and I think this is negative.

So, I quit my job.

I had no time for my university study, and I really paid for that this week when I had to submit a mind boggling assignment. I mean, seriously, what IS the difference between semantics and phonology?! I got an extension and banged my head against the desk and ate my weight in sad pasta, and cried tears of shame and humiliation and excruciating pain.

So, yes, I quit my job.

I was earning next to nothing; lower than minimum wage. The money I did earn went straight on train travel. It was measly. I had no time for anybody or anything and my creative spark sizzled a little and then died. I was also horribly moody, because all my time was taken up teaching, tutoring, studying and planning. My family never see me.

So, how come I stayed there so long?

Well, quite simply, I loved it. I love it. I love the kids, I love the atmosphere, I love teaching. I even love feeling drained of energy but still dredging up enough to give somebody some valuable time. I really really really loved my job.

If I was still living back in that city, would I quit?

Hell no. Not for a very long time, at any rate.

But, I quit.

A part of me is worried that I can’t stick anything for long enough to really count. But another part argues that this was unsustainable, and I have to agree with the other part. But I also have misgivings; does this make me a quitter? Does this mean I am fickle? How many other jobs will I quit because I cannot handle the pressure?

But, was it really the pressure?

I quit because I am never home, because I miss my husband sorely and we haven’t been a proper unit since December 2015. I quit because now we have our own place, I need to be home with him instead of away for five days. I quit to put my marriage first. I quit to put my family first.

And I also quit because, in reality, this is not what I see myself doing for the rest of my life.

Yes. It is sad. I quit my job. And I am sad.

But also relieved.

Tremendously relieved. A heavy weight has been lifted from my shoulders. So that is how I know a good decision was made, albeit a tough one.

colorful-paintings-leonid-afremov-11.jpg

Leonid Afromov

352 Days Left

I got job today. Well, not today, but today is my first day. It’s minimal wage, and only for two hours a day, because I can’t go full time until I get me a first class degree, but its something.

I still feel like a failure though.

My husband pointed out that I have been running an online business for two years and not even scratching the surface of a liveable income. He is right. He reckons I have no gumption and spend more time and effort making excuses rather than doing anything productive with my life.

‘Where’s that book you said you were writing?’

‘Um, I’m writing it.’

‘Where’s that translation company you wanted to set up?’

‘Well I am studying a full time course, you know!’

‘You could stop your tuition that pays you peanuts and start your company, but no, you just have excuses, always excuses, and I am so sick of it.’

He is sick of it. I am sick of it. He is sick of me. He is also sick, which doesn’t help his frustration. I made him so many cups of tea and tucked him up in bed and brought him all his meals and made sure he was warm and comfortable in a clean and tidy environment. He is so cold to me though lately. It hurts me a lot, but I don’t have time to mull over it or confront him about it because I have all these assignments and now the job and in between that and chauffeuring my brothers to school I don’t have any time to talk to him.

I don’t blame him, really.

I’m upset, though. I know these things bother him a lot. They bother me too. Maybe it’s tough love.

I know we are at very different stages of life at the moment; he is a successful automotive engineer full of ideas for the future, liasing with other engineers about how to make software to promote the green lifestyle etc etc. He is innovative and hard working and aspirational. I am still studying full time. And he is right. If I spent more effort chasing my dreams, I would have made something of myself by now.

‘You’re 22,’ he said, ‘what do you have to show for it?’

Nothing.

My mum would say I have a driving license, I have an online business (which pays me peanuts), I’m working towards a degree, I bought a car. But those are things all adults should work for. If I didn’t have any of those things, given the opportunities I have in life, I would really be a failure.

I don’t have a real degree. Yet. My business is not at its full potential, and I could have made it so, had I worked hard enough. I have been writing a novel since I was eleven years old. When Christopher Paolini published Eragon at age 15, I thought, ‘I’m gonna publish mine by the time I’m fourteen.’

Did I? I’m 22 now. Did I? No.

So I feel like a failure. I keep doing this. I keep saying things and talking the talk but not walking the walk.

But all is not lost. I have been 22 for thirteen days. I still have 352 days left.

12968097_1170315453001726_3325030355216072446_o.jpg

Photograph of Venice