The Day I Stopped Working For A Living

The day I left that office I didn’t cry. Truthfully I, and probably anyone else who knew the amount of trouble I’ve had on that job, was not expecting me to. The people I didn’t get along with ducked out without saying so much as a Merry Christmas. The ones who couldn’t help but be somewhat connected, due to having to work so closely with me for years, gave a chaste hug and well wishes. It was sort of a tacit consent to not feel so torn because I was leaving. “We don’t have to care, but we should be socially acceptable at least”. It seemed fair. I felt the same.

I walked through the office and by everything. I wanted to sort of feel a connection to the walls or the desks or computers but I just couldn’t quite get it. I was leaving this office with a clean, almost clinical, stance. My presence will not permeate the walls. My ways will not be ingrained into the very fabric of the company. I leave everything clean and ready to be used by someone else, in their own way, to their own ends.

And for myself; Now I hope this day marks the last day of this life where I work for a living. I hope this is the last day where I compromise my integrity and swallow my disappointment for not being able to BE who I am and DO what I do.

I wish the extreme and very best to all. But I sincerely hope to, and am working towards, never working another day in my life.

Because when you’re working on your dreams and allowing yourself to BE yourself…well;

You’re not working at all now are you?


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