I remember when I landed my first suit and tie job. I swore this was going to make me a different person.
I was moving up. I was a man with a job, at least to me.
However, I was nothing more than a kid in a suit with a briefcase and folders filled with samples of woven labels for garment manufacturers.
I had no idea what I was doing. I had less of an idea how to sell an item that was literally viewed as the least important item on the garment.
But that was fine.
I was alive and working in The Big City. I was on my way, or so I thought.
I was about to embark on a new journey with the potential to live well and earn what I considered to be a grown man’s salary.
In the simplest context, I was a young man who thought that I knew it all. Meanwhile, I was too young and too new. To put this more plainly, I was a stupid kid without any life or lived experience.
There was a conversation during my job interview about the earning potential and making real money, as in six-digit possibilities. However, at best, I had yet to earn more than a few hundred dollars a week, let alone a few thousand.
But that’s how “they” get you . . .
They tell you about the upside of some great earning potential.
The only downside is you’ll have to work your ass off or get really lucky, really quickly.
As far as this pertains to me, I was not so lucky and after a series of failed sales calls and attempts to land better business, I lost my motivation, and surrendered to an assumption that I will only be happy, if and “when” I make a certain amount of money.
I tired different things. I tried different sales jobs, and some were awful to the core. One of which was a sales position for a window manufacturer, which did not work out well for me. This became apparent after an altercation took place between a sales manager and myself. Justifiably so, the argument was about a conversation we had which the sales manager went in with the owners of the company and told them about what we talked about. Yes, the conversation was personal and, of course, the conversation was the opposite of professional.
However, shortly after, it turns out the sales manager who fired me is the same person who turned on the company and became states evidence against my previous employers. I was told that the rest of the management team went to jail—except for him, of course, he skated away for being an informant, or rat, or stool pigeon or in whichever way he could be defined, he was nothing more than a tattle tale.
I mean . . .
I knew there was something shady going on in the background at this company—I didn’t know embezzlement was going on and I didn’t know about the fraud. But either way, that was all above my pay grade and this was only a tiny spurt in my life.
I tried door-to-door sales which is worse than telemarketing. I had friends who urged me to become a stockbroker. They told me that the possibilities were endless and that they were all going to be rich. I suppose some of them made some really good money. Some of them saw the biggest paychecks of their life. That is, until the Federal Government came along and took them away in handcuffs.
I remember thinking to myself about the suggestions and the warnings about living a crooked life.
I was told to straighten up. I was told to buckle-down and get ready to earn an honest day’s living for an honest day’s pay. I was told that I had to be ready and willing to do whatever it takes, and to work hard, and be ready for the so-called, “Corporate America.”
In fairness, I was told to “get honest,”
but I was unsure what people were saying because Corporate America is a lot of things.
But honest is not one of them.
I have seen more honesty in correctional facilities.
And yes . . .
There’s always a scam. There’s more than meets the eye. I suppose there’s a sucker born every minute, and it’s probably more than one sucker, I’m sure.
Back when I was selling labels, there was a man who worked in an office down the hall from me. He knew I was young. He could see that I was not working for a family business, or that I didn’t have a silver spoon or a golden parachute, and it was clear that I was new to the garment business. He knew that I was still a guppy in a sea of sharks. He knew that I was going to face changes and needed to make corrections.
He told me, “You have to find a way to love what you do.”
He had been in sales since he was a young man.
I had to work for everything I have, is what he would tell me,
“And I love what I have!”
This man was the first person who told me that if you love what you do, then you’ll never go to work a day in your life.
Naturally, I did not love what I did. I hated what I did and, in fairness, I didn’t even like the people I worked with which is probably why I told him to save his little stories for someone else.
The man laughed. He understood.
“You’re in the asshole-end of the industry, kid.”
“But don’t worry. You’re only here for now.”
“You’ll find out where you’re supposed to be.”
And this was true.
I used to think that I would be happy if I made a certain amount of money. I thought that if I could afford more, then I could enjoy more. I used to think that if could earn at least $50,000, then I would be fine. But then I reached that number.
I surpassed that number, and nothing was fine.
I remember when I started to resent my work. I bounced around for a while. Then I remember my very last sales call, which did not go well, and to clarity, the ending of the conversation led me to use a few different “colorful” words, or should I say that yes, I went drastic.
I used the worst words possible, which were deserved, for sure. To be clear, this person deserved every word I said (and more). However, I knew this meant that I’d be fired. So, I quit.
I tried different jobs and different angles. But no . . .
I never “loved” what I did for a living and hence, going to work was a bitch.
I found a place for myself. I found a job and a career and, at that moment, I believed this was “good enough” for me to get by.
I remember saying to myself, ‘I’ll just do this for now.”
I told myself, “I’ll do this until I figure out what I want to do with my life.”
I have met people who have said the same thing. In fact, we talked about this when one of my friends retired. He shook his head because it is amazing how temporary places can become permanent, if we allow them to be.
I never told anyone about my dreams. I never said what I really wanted to do. I never talked about my poetry or my journals. Even more, I never told anyone about my desire to enter the mental health world
At best, I suppose I believed in the labels I was given. I believed in the predictions that were told to me. I believed that I would be sweeping up somewhere or cleaning bathrooms or driving a truck. I believed this because I had different schoolteachers who told me, “You’ll be lucky to be digging ditches for a living.”
Then again, I have friends who are laborers in Local 79. They dig ditches too
And they make way more than teachers.
I was told that I would be lucky if I was driving a truck somewhere. Coincidentally, I have friends who are part of the Teamsters Union, who drive trucks, and they do exceptionally well.
As a matter of fact, they are more well-off than the teachers who condemned me to idiocy.
I remember the different social, economic and educational snobberies behind the prestige of different positions.
In fact, I remember kids talking about being a doctor or a lawyer. Maybe some kids wanted to take over their family business—and strike it rich, just like their parents did.
I am someone who chose to bloom at a different period of my life. This means that I have denied myself for way too long.
It’s been a little more than a decade now. I have been writing daily. And no, I’m not on the best seller’s list and perhaps I am far away from reaching this goal.
But I’m still here.
I moved away from the sales gigs and rather than allow my focus to be on the job, I decided to allow my focus to move towards my happiness. I say this because if I am miserable, then I’ll be miserable no matter how much I earn. At the same time, if I hate my life, it won’t matter what type of job I land or where I work.
I agree that if you love what you do or if you learn to live, love, laugh and learn to improve and to move beyond the bullshit, if you can understand the better ways to invest your time, and to be more effective, as in understanding where, who, how and when to invest your time, then you can learn to be happy—even when if you’re doing a job that is less-than happy.
We do not have to let misery win.
There are ideas that I have now, which are ideas that I have always had; however, I never dared to try, and I never dared to speak about them or share this with others.
I’m not a kid in a suit anymore and perhaps, I’m not a kid at all anymore. However, I had to come to a decision. So, I decided.
I refuse to allow myself to give in to the intimidations. I can’t wait anymore.
I’ve waited too long. I’ve depended on the ideas of “When?” for as long as I can remember.
I did this with my professional life and I did this with my personal life.
I’ve done this in so many ways that now, or at least now that my eyes are opened wide enough to see clearly, I have the right to regain my composure.
I have the right to reclaim my dreams.
I have the right to decide who and what I want to be “When I grow up.”
And I do plan to grow up . . .
One day.
I remember doing a presentation in a Northern New Jersey high school. The neighborhood was well to do. All the kids had their ideas of who or what they wanted to be.
A few students approached me after class.
They didn’t like the path they had set up for themselves.
“But what else is there?” is what they asked.
I told them a quick story.
I was working on an air conditioning system in a tenant space one day. They office belonged to a headhunter who made his living by getting people jobs . . .
He was a man, close to or around my age. We had a similar understanding of time and we knew about the same music. However, I cannot say that I spoke very much with him.
He was not my type of person. He was arrogant to say the least.
He tried to pitch me to let him get me a job.
“I have a job.”
“Yeah, but I can get you a better job,” he told me.
“Oh yeah?”
Then he ran down the pay scale. I explained how I appreciated his efforts, but I couldn’t afford to make a move and take a pay cut like that—
This became a mission for him to find out my yearly salary, which I did not, would not, and will not expose.
He started to guess and guess and, in the end, I explained perhaps if we exchange tax information at the end of the year, maybe you’ll see why my smile is bigger than yours.
Stay away from the bullshit snobbery.
I have friends who are electricians and they earn more than some of the VP’s in their company.
I’ve had this happen with specialist positions. I’ve had people in top level seats offer me a job to which I thanked them and told them how I appreciated their faith in me.
It is funny and often misunderstood that the color of the collar dictates the wealth and the happiness of the worker. This is untrue.
I don’t come to work for the food and friends; however, the day when I learned to keep things in perspective, or when I realized the day that I allow anyone to steal my smile is the same day that I allowed someone to steal me.
I learned to personalize the benefits and not to take the hardships so personally.
I learned that this is life—it’s just life, and so, I started to understand that everyone has something to deal with. We all have our own fights behind the scenes. We all have our own hopes and dreams—and me, I don’t want to be like some of the people I’ve met, or like some of my friends who retired from a life they never wanted in the first place.
I want to be happy.
To do so, I can’t walk around and wait for my next big break. I have to create my own success. I had to understand that waiting or stalling does nothing. I had to realize the lies in which I believed that I can only be happy, “when” my fortune improves.
No.
I had to make my fortune improve.
If I am to improve, then it will be because I chose to move instead of waiting for a time when moving would be easier.
I am a work in progress,
but at least I’m better than I was at this time last year or the year before.
So therefore, I’ll keep moving on . . .
best seller’s list or not.
The Written Addiction 