P – Pressing On
In case you hadn’t heard it everywhere, Fun is sweeping the airwaves with Some Nights. This song in particular suits this post. Click here to watch.
Hello mocha beauties! I promised a post within 48 hours, I’m stretching it a bit, but hey, I made it. Love me! (Please)
Alright, today’s post has nothing to do with style or fashion (actually, it could) but let’s not detract from it. I stumbled on this message on Facebook while groping around blindly for inspiration. It was a status message written by a friend, I made her email it to me and now I will share. I hope you find as many beautiful nuggets of inspiration in it as I did.
Profanity alert: There’s not a lot of it though. I thought of editing, but it would have detracted from it. Considering the fact that the little butterfly who wrote this, rarely ever utters a swear word. Well, grab a coffee/tea and enjoy!
Repeat after me: I am not my f*n job. I am not my f*n job.
When you fail at something small, you feel awful. If it were a big, beautiful disaster at least you could have some small measure of pride in having attempted and subsequently failed. But when faced with a series of small, insidious failures, it becomes soul crushing. The positivity tropes like, “take care of the little things and the big things will take care of themselves” begin to make you think, Well, I must be royally fucked, then. It’s like, if anyone with a basic grasp of English grammar could walk in off the street and do this job, then what good are my English degree or journalism qualifications when I can’t meet a fucking sales quota?
It begins to chip away at your self-confidence, if you let it. It begins to make you feel like the work is a reflection of your character, of your self worth, but that is not true. Anyone who makes you believe so is wrong, no matter how much we’ve collectively absorbed from the Gordon Gekko school of management.
I’m here to tell you that it isn’t true. Fuck that minimum wage job that’s giving you a stress level worthy of a Bay Street trader. You know that you are capable of so much more, but it does not mean that failure in this translates to failure in everything else you do.
Maybe you suck at insurance sales but make a killer red velvet cupcake. Fuck that. Start your own cupcake business and hire someone else as a sales person.
Maybe you hate to talk people into buying shit they don’t need, but love to talk to people. Fuck that. Become a counselor. Maybe someone needs to hear your voice a different way.
Hate the grease smell of your fast food job, but love the smell of oil paint on canvas? Follow that damn dream. Apply for a grant and go after your heart.
It isn’t easy, God knows. But it isn’t worth killing yourself to make a living at the expense of living a life.
When you are surrounded on all sides by examples of how people have fallen through the cracks, and countless more are hanging on by their broken and bleeding fingertips, the idea of failing becomes even bigger and more terrifying. You can’t afford to quit when you’re two months behind on rent. When you’re never out of overdraft because your paycheque barely breaks even yet you can’t afford to live without spending money for two weeks. Because food is kind of important, you know.
When you’re three years graduated but only six months in on student loan payments because the jobs you work aren’t paying you squat so you have to defer, and defer, and defer. When the applications for jobs you are qualified for, that you went to school for, continue to go unanswered, while the survival jobs you hang onto gradually convince you that you are no longer worthy of anything better.
Fuck. That. All.
You can do anything, anything, anything you want to. You will fail, you will backslide, you will push through, and you will conquer your fears, your mountains, and your obstacles. And you will be given helping hands along the way, just please, don’t be afraid to ask. Trust me, I know the feeling of not wanting to get help, or ask for it. Nobody wants to seem weak, and nobody wants to feel like a leech, always asking, never giving. But there is a time for everything. When you are helped up, you can that much more easily turn around and help the next person coming up behind you.
Sometimes, it is possible to hang on for dear life even when you think you’ve given your all, and sometimes it is absolutely imperative to grit your teeth and slug through another hour, another day, another week, doing something you hate because it allows you to pay your way towards something you love.
But sometimes, when it becomes far too toxic to keep holding onto that twisted branch that’s the only thing keeping you from falling into uncertain danger, when you’re on the verge of a panic attack every time you walk into work, then maybe it’s time to let go and believe that somehow, in the falling, you will learn to fly.