Work

So, if money is the root of evil, what is the root of happiness? Family? Friends? Love? Good health and stability? As I mulled over this subject after another 12 hour day of work, my mind kept coming back to my newfound revelation: happiness, to me, does not come from how much many money I'm earning. After desperately wishing for so long to make money and thinking that a steady income would subdue my problems, it, in fact, has dulled my life and spirit. I start my morning off as if I had a bad hangover, mosey over to work at a job that I now dislike and slowly watch the next three hours of my day tick away in near silence, and then rush over to park my car by the bus station and make my way over to downtown. It's not to say that I don't enjoy my new work life and co-workers or that I'm unappreciative of the opportunities around me.

I think I've set aside what the epitome of happiness means to me and threw myself into so much work that I wouldn't have to think about what I want anyone. I just DO. I function, I operate, I play along with my roles as model employee. Young, driven, eager to prove at every opportunity that makes itself present. I almost sold a watch worth $4k today--but for what purpose? To see my name on that white board under "Top Performers"? I certainly wasn't thinking about that as I made my way up the windy, uphill walk to my car at 10:30 Pm. I was cold, I was a little scared even though I was armed with my heavy duty flashlight, and then I scolded myself for thinking anything bad could happen to me in a neighborhood where people actually pay to keep their front lawn spotlights on their ban zai landscapes.

But what truly made my walk linger on was the realization that I was alone with my thoughts and that there wasn't anything good to keep me looking ahead. That in fifteen minutes from that point, I would be home with only my cats and dog to greet me hello. If there's any silver lining, it's my mom. I can tell how worried she is about me. Worried that I'm working too hard, having something ready for me to heat up and eat after only a minute of being home, calling me to make sure I had an umbrella today, even offering to pick me up from the bus station so that she could drive me to my car (which would only really take two-minutes to get to by car). So, yes, my mom's been wonderful. I can't help but feel a little weird. The same person wouldn't speak to me, as if I was such a great disappointment. Sometimes, I wonder if I've created merit and worth now that I'm making more money...

So sleepy now...and now I follow my pattern. Sleep, shower, then work. Money is no longer my form of happiness. It's a mere, dirty object. Give me the tangible, the things that really mean something.