Well maybe not so much purgatory... but maybe limbo? I went down to my caravan this week to finish getting it set up for the season, and took half an hour to sit by the sea front. I was hit by a wave of wistfulness, the sun was out and there was the smell of the sea, and that beautiful view. I'm having a few moments of late where I resent the time that work takes up in my life. #firstworldproblems of course, hey we all have to eat and money doesn't grow on trees, so those of us who didn't inherit Uncle Bertrand's millions have to go to work. But anyway, of late I've been contemplating that someone ELSE is going to need to clean and manage this caravan for me, meaning I'll rarely be here unless I happen to be Not Working on a Monday or a Friday. Essentially I'm not able to "accept" this job because of my full-time job commitments and it will also cost me money to pay a cleaner. I also passed up a part-time Sunday job due to my workplace not being able to guarantee I'd be free on Sundays. Another job I couldn't accept because of my full-time job, and this time it cost me £80 a week.
I like what I do... sure we would all probably rather not work given the choice, but as far as my actual job function goes, I enjoy it. Once I get there I almost universally have a good day. But I've also spent so many days either working or thinking about work this year that I've had zero time for a life. I literally do nothing else but work. I've spent a grand total of 45 minutes since new year doing anything social other than working, and actually, sitting in a truck stop eating a Greggs takeaway with a mate doesn't really count as having a social life.
I will admit that after the "can't take the Sunday job" incident I contemplated looking for another job, one that had set working shift patterns. I don't even necessarily need a "better" job or more pay, just something that doesn't demand I'm available 7am-11pm, 7 days a week. But I didn't put any real effort into job searching. And then this week while looking out at the glorious English Channel and eating my brioche, my brain slammed into gear and yelled at me: you moved to England to have a life of your own, you're now not achieving anything but barely paying bills, you haven't actually got any life at all, so why are you doing this to yourself?
I have been shaken.
It hasn't helped that I've been reading a fascinating FIRE blog lately (Financially Independent / Retiring Early) and it's been so relentless in its description of working taking up valuable human-time. But it's the truth. And it's hard not to resent something that almost wholly prevents you having any life at all. I had promised myself that in England I would meet new people and make some friends. So far I socialised outside work three times in a year. Obviously I could have tried harder, gone to meetups, join a course or class. But when your work days change every week, how can you go to a regular class anyway?
The route my mind wants to take me is in leaving this job and finding something part-time so that I can take my Sunday job too, and manage the rental van, and also have time to do something on a Saturday. But I recognise that making all the stars align in such a way is really quite difficult, and so I hesitate. "What if I quit then can't find flexible part-time work? What if I can't pay my bills? What if I lose the caravan? What if that Sunday job is gone? What if I can't manage my rent? What if it doesn't turn out perfectly, what then, what then?"
I realise I have to get my ducks in a row. Let's hope that my brain can handle this because right now it all seems a bit too much.
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