You know that old adage, the one about money not buying happiness? We all do. And at some point in our lives most of us are poor enough to think it is a load of horse manure.
Let's start this story at the beginning.
For the past few years I've been working part time—but for a very nice hourly rate—as a school bus driver. I have Administrative Assistant experience, but at the time all I could find was the bus company.
And I honestly loved it.
I loved working with kids without all the headache and bureaucracy of being a teacher. I loved the free time in the middle of the day to prep dinner, or work on crafts, or dedicate to my writing. And I brought in just as much as I had working full time. Sure I didn't have benefits, but once I got married that was solved. I didn't mind getting up and going to work, I looked forward to the new school years and loved the idea that when I had kids I could bring them along with me—and that makes my dream of homeschooling my kids closer to a reality. My bosses made me feel appreciated and needed.
We were still struggling, but no more than before. And loving your job goes a long way.
About a month ago my Mom called me with an offer. The company she works for was expanding and needed a new Admin Assistant. Full time, with benefits. My per hour rate would go down, but my yearly would go up. And I would just have to work in an office.
More money! And it's an admin job, which I have experience in. So I said sure, without a second thought.
Then the problems started gathering, before I even started.
Travel. I would have to travel across the state every week, taking a huge chunk out of that pay upgrade, and taking me away from my husband (and any future children) at least 1 night a week. I also would have no access to a permanent office. (My first day I spent at a table in an empty activity room, my second in a closet.)
Hours. There would be no normal office hours. Most days I would have to stay until 6:30pm—meaning I won't get home until 7:30-8:30pm. Which takes away any concept of dinner.
Clients. I was originally told I would have no contact with the clients—lets just say these people would fit in on an episode of SVU, and not on the cop or victims side. As someone who was a victim of a sex crime, I was (and still am) uncomfortable with this. But, the money is good, so why not try and face my demons? They're human too, and statistically they were all victims at some point.
Locations. I was told in my original offer that I would not have to enter the Prison, as this was an out-patient program. This was also changed. Twice. First I was told I would just have to go into the Administrative building. Then I was told I would have to go into "the belly of the beast" to do filing. The stark, clinical, hospital-like prison. To it's belly. By myself.
Fun Fact about me: I'm TERRIFIED of Hospitals. And a prison is like a hospital I couldn't even step out of to get air. Everywhere there are cages. You are trapped. (more reasons I will never commit a crime).
My first day in just the Admin building of the prison I
What makes all of this worse is knowing if I want to quit I have to tell my mother. The person who got me the job. She will forever see me as a failure (not that she doesn't already) because I wasn't "smart" enough to suck it up and do the hard job so I can make the money she thinks I need to be happy.
But the more I think about it the more I realize, I was happy. My etsy business was starting to take off, I'd started selling at craft shows and conventions. What if I could have made up what's lacking in my income by dedicating my time to my craft? I was finally getting inspired again by my writing (after about a year long schlump). I just handed up my dreams—for money. For numbers on a screen. I gave up my opportunity to have kids.
I sold out.
And I want to return it. I want to go back. Fuck money.
I want happy.
I want poor and crafting and dreaming and building a family. Because no one ever regrets following their dreams.
