Little Miss Real Adult

It is Monday afternoon, and I have come to a conclusion. A few conclusions, actually. I've been in the middle of a sort of job crisis recently, as plenty of other people all over have. My crisis is a little different than a complete inability to find any job though.

See, I was hired as a canvasser not too long ago, and I was on track to getting promoted to leading other canvassers once I got familiar enough with canvassing myself. It didn't pay huge amounts, but it was better than minimum wage, actually. And, more importantly, the work I was doing was in the name of progressive organisations I liked. It had all the markings of the perfect job.

I hated it.

I've been trying to figure out why I hated it so much, all the while applying to jobs I thought I might enjoy more. It was far, so I applied for jobs in my own city. I worked long hours (13 hour days, with commute time), so I applied for jobs with shorter, reasonable shifts. It was impersonal, so I applied for jobs where I'd actually know my employer. And yet none of the jobs I applied for felt right either.

The voice in the back of my head had an answer I did not like.

I have an almost murderous desire to be "grown up." I always have. I have always wanted to be what my peers have all called "old." I called it wise. I wanted to be a real adult. I still do. And part of being a real adult is having a real job. Or so I've been told. About five million times.

The thing is, I'm wrong. What you do does not define who you are. Even if I had a "real" job, it wouldn't make me any more grown up. Working as a canvasser didn't make me any more grown up than being unemployed did. In fact, it just made me cranky, irritable, and immature. I have been beating myself up and trying to squeeze myself into the societal mold of "real adult" when I just don't fit. Amidst all of my own self-accusations of laziness and immaturity, all my attempts at "fitting in" have only pushed me backwards in maturity, not forward.

I am a self-employed, freelance sort of person. Maturity means recognising and accepting myself for who I am, not forcing myself into who I am not. Maturity also means doing something about it though too. Self-employed, freelance sort of people still have to work in order to be real adults. Maybe even a little harder. (Though non-"freelance" work feels infinitely harder to me.)

So here's my new plan, my new conclusion: instead of trying to find a job at a McDonald's sort of place, it's time for me to find ways to put my creative talents to use . . . creatively. Step one, advertise. Tell people. Reach out. So, besides using Craigslist to advertise things like piano/theatre lessons and dog walking, I am resolving to mention at least one "service" I offer at least once a week. Once on here, once on Facebook, once in a real conversation.

Dear blog readers, I can proofread for spelling and grammar issues.