Getting back into the work groove after a week’s vacation seems to get harder as time moves forward. Until my novel hits the bestseller list—if it ever does—I’m stuck with a day job. Returning to an avalanche of paperwork, 152 e-mails—many of which require immediate action—double-digit voicemails, and a list of “Things to Do” almost nullifies the vacation or at the least make it not a fair exchange for the stress and aggravation.
My day job is one of those positions that keep on giving even when I’m not here. The floodgates stay open 24/7. This got me to thinking. I wonder how many people really and truly enjoy their jobs. From my experience in the working world—and the years have been many—it seems that working is merely a paycheck; a means to an end.
In all honesty, I can’t ever remember hearing someone tell me that they love their job. Do rich and famous people love what they do? Considering the number of suicides and drug and alcohol addictions among the elite, it appears that even the crème de la crème have issues.
If in your heart of hearts you want to climb mountains, swim with whales, travel the world, be a food critic or wine taster, why can’t you do what you want to do and get paid for it? But then again, who would be left to snake out your clogged toilet? Who would collect the garbage? Who would clean the public restrooms? Who would flip burgers at Mickey D’s? Hmm. Maybe my day job ain’t so bad.