I made the mistake at looking at my paycheck the other day. I usually don’t pay much attention to it because I already know the amount, as it has been directly deposited into my account the night before I get it. But for some reason, I decided to give it a look just to see what I had been missing.
As I was following the lines and numbers across the page, I noticed a column that said Year-to-Date Earnings and a number beneath it that was just that, the amount of money (pre-tax and deductions) that my company has issued to me since January 1st.
And here is how my brain works: I thought, that is not enough money to trade for my happiness.
And then I thought: But, it is a lot of money.
And then I thought: There must not be any amount of money that is worth being unhappy for.
And then I got depressed because I always thought if I could just make “X” amount of money, then it would make me happy. I always thought, this job isn’t worth what they are paying me, but if they paid me $20,000 more, I might have to reconsider.
At some point I adopted the notion, wrongly so, that no one really likes their job, so you might as well get paid well to do it. As a former boss of mine once said, “Money doesn’t buy happiness, but it makes being miserable a whole helluva lot easier.”
The bottom line, I guess, is that there will be no amount of payment that will be an even trade for hating my job. So maybe I should just do what I love, and let the money part work itself out. This sounds suspiciously simple...
When I was about 8 years old, like most boys, I wanted to be like my dad. I wanted to look like him, dress like him, and act like him - basically, I wanted to be him.
One day when we were driving to the lake in his jeep, he asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I told him I wanted to be an eye doctor (my father is an optometrist). He looked at me with disbelief and said, “No, you don’t want to do that.”
When I asked him why, he said, “Because you wouldn’t like it. The patients are a real hassle and you don’t make much money.”
As the years went by, occasionally the subject would come up again, and all of the things I was interested in were subsequently shot down.
“A therapist,” I would say.
“You wouldn’t want to sit and listen to people’s problems all day. That would be depressing,” my father would reply.
“A filmmaker,” I would say.
“That would be kind of hard to do from Oklahoma,” he said. “You know, we are a long way from Hollywood where all of that stuff happens.” I guess it never occurred to either of us that I could move to California.
“A writer,” I once said. “You can do that from anywhere.”
“You could,” he said, “but it is extremely difficult to get paid to write. You might as well say that you wanted to be a professional athlete. There are probably as many of those as there are paid writers.” I had already been told that I wouldn’t be able to be a professional athlete.
And so it went on, with me suggesting ideas and him picking them off, like some kind of occupational skeet-shooting exercise. He had no shortage of negative points to make relative to my vocational aspirations.
To be fair, I hadn’t shown much promise in school. I tested exceptionally well, but my grades were just average. Perhaps he just didn’t think that I possessed the aptitude to perform any of these tasks. I know now, he didn’t believe in me enough to encourage me.
Maybe my father wasn’t the best person to go to on the subject of career placement. After all, he never liked his job - and I am certain that he still doesn’t.
When you are a kid, you don’t know any better than to ask your father for, and subsequently, take his advice. He is the best reference that you have access to, and you trust him completely. I was disappointed when my dad told me that all of the things that I wanted to be would be impossible, but I didn’t question him. He was all-knowing to me, and he would remain that way for quite some time.
Now, I am about to have a son. And I guess I am writing this as a reminder to myself of the awesome amount of influence I will soon wield. I must try to be mindful of how my words can quickly tear down, or inspire a thought. I must remember the ridiculous amount of trust that will be bestowed upon me without question.
While I don’t want to be the type of parent who sets my child up for disappointment by being completely unrealistic, I also have to be open to the fact that my son will be like me, but he will not be me. And while being a scientist in a lab might sound like punishment to me, it might be just the fit for him.
One thing is for sure: I owe it to my son to be open and accepting to everything that sparks his interest or makes him happy. I also owe it to him to get a job where I am not trading my paycheck for happiness.
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