Chasing Dreams
Roqaya is one of my favorite co-workers. She's a mother of 3 - her eldest in college now - and she's level-headed, smart, devoid of drama, very chill, and has a great sense of humor. I don't know any "cool moms", but I'm imagining she's one of them.
My tendency to over-analyze All The Things extends to small, seemingly purposeless conversations such as the one she and I had yesterday at one of our breaks.
"I fucking hate my job," I says, because that's just standard convo starter, isn't it?
"Who doesn't?" she says.
"Well, I'm pretty sure you don't, for instance," I tell her. "I don't hate that I have a job, and it also doesn't mean that I'd do a shit job - I'll do my level best all the time because I'm getting paid for it. But I hate the actual teaching. You know?"
"Yeah, I know. No, I don't hate my job. I hate that I have to generally work for money, but that's everyone. I enjoy teaching. I don't work for the love of teaching, no, but I do happen to enjoy the actual teaching."
We both think about this for a moment.
"What do you want to be doing instead?" she asks me.
"Oh, who cares. I'm so poor I can't afford to think or whine about having a career. Who the hell complains about not having a career? I need money."
She laughs at this, and I continue. "People can't eat, they don't know where they're gonna get their next meal, they can't even get a job, and here I am, complaining that I have a well-paying job that requires minimal effort on my part, because I want a career doing something I love."
"You're right," she says. "Life in South Africa is getting increasingly difficult, too. We need to just remember our blessings and be thankful for them."
More silence.
"But you need to chase your dreams, too. Just a little bit," she tells me as she makes a move towards the door. Break's over.
And just like that, I'm reminded of the guilt we third-world-country citizens always carry around, the one that doesn't allow us to even think about "wasting" the opportunities we've been so fortunate to receive, who cares that it's the "wrong" opportunity, because other people would kill to be in my place.
Who cares that this isn't the opportunity I need?
Yeah, no.
If I'm to chase dreams, I'll do so wearing good running shoes. And there's only one place to get them: at the job I hate.
My tendency to over-analyze All The Things extends to small, seemingly purposeless conversations such as the one she and I had yesterday at one of our breaks.
"I fucking hate my job," I says, because that's just standard convo starter, isn't it?
"Who doesn't?" she says.
"Well, I'm pretty sure you don't, for instance," I tell her. "I don't hate that I have a job, and it also doesn't mean that I'd do a shit job - I'll do my level best all the time because I'm getting paid for it. But I hate the actual teaching. You know?"
"Yeah, I know. No, I don't hate my job. I hate that I have to generally work for money, but that's everyone. I enjoy teaching. I don't work for the love of teaching, no, but I do happen to enjoy the actual teaching."
We both think about this for a moment.
"What do you want to be doing instead?" she asks me.
"Oh, who cares. I'm so poor I can't afford to think or whine about having a career. Who the hell complains about not having a career? I need money."
She laughs at this, and I continue. "People can't eat, they don't know where they're gonna get their next meal, they can't even get a job, and here I am, complaining that I have a well-paying job that requires minimal effort on my part, because I want a career doing something I love."
"You're right," she says. "Life in South Africa is getting increasingly difficult, too. We need to just remember our blessings and be thankful for them."
More silence.
"But you need to chase your dreams, too. Just a little bit," she tells me as she makes a move towards the door. Break's over.
And just like that, I'm reminded of the guilt we third-world-country citizens always carry around, the one that doesn't allow us to even think about "wasting" the opportunities we've been so fortunate to receive, who cares that it's the "wrong" opportunity, because other people would kill to be in my place.
Who cares that this isn't the opportunity I need?
Yeah, no.
If I'm to chase dreams, I'll do so wearing good running shoes. And there's only one place to get them: at the job I hate.
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