According to an online article published late last year, the average time an employee stays at a job is 4.4 years. I do not know if this holds true for the local setting but for the sake of this discussion, I will assume it is.
I have been a part of the workforce for years now and in that period I have had five jobs. On average, my tenure lasts for a little more than 1.5 years; only my current job broke past it and I want to attribute the longevity to a certain satisfaction that I get from select colleagues, my quasi-flexible work schedule which allows me the time to pursue graduate studies, and most importantly, the gym membership. I just cannot imagine forgoing such lifestyle.
Yesterday morning however, while taking a post-workout shower, I thought I finally came up with a decision. If it would mean that I will no longer feel the need to job hop, if it would bring back my competitive nature, if it would enliven my fading creative spark, if it would give me the sense of fulfillment I have been yearning for, then I should go and pursue what I love. In my head are vignettes of how demanding and dynamic my new career will be, the fresh faces and inspiring personalities I will be surrounding myself with, and the endless opportunities that I seemingly cannot afford to miss.
All these, of course, would entail major sacrifices. I conditioned myself that I will most likely start from scratch and receive a hefty pay cut; more than that, I will also have to bear whatever irrational disappointment,
frustration
and perhaps, anger
that my parents will throw my way.
Slowly and ever so gently, I let the warm water wash away the fuzzy feeling, the fleeting confidence I just mustered, and all the future perfect pictures I painted.
Their reality chains me to the ground so I think of lofty dreams instead. It keeps me sane. Sometimes, though, I wonder if there will ever be a time when I can actually be set free to create one that I can call my own.
