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Someone asked "Just curious - Did you choose your career or did it choose you?" I had to think for a bit to get a handle on that question. First, I don't really see myself as having a 'career' so much as just a job. 'Career' implies a lot more drive than I think I've had.
I was a band and art geek in school, so it seemed reasonable to pursue these subjects in college. I went through a couple of majors (music and art) to discover that just because I was good at something was no reason to get a degree in it. Which is flip; I guess what it really boiled down to was that I enjoyed doing these things, but not to the point where I wanted to make them into a job, which once it started getting really competitive, just sucked every last bit of enjoyment out of it. And you should enjoy whatever you're doing for a living, right? So I figured I'd do music and art for fun, and figure something else out for work.
Both my parents, by virtue of my father's membership in Alcoholics Anonymous and a favorable climate for alcohol recovery programs, managed to become counselors of a sort without getting formal training in it. When the climate changed, Dad moved on to other things, but Mom stuck with it and actually got certification as a substance abuse counselor. It seemed to basically be listening to people and suggesting courses of action for them. I thought "hey, I could do that", and I was really blown away by Ordinary People so I switched my major to psychology. Once again, the reality did not match my expectations. I saw that there were a lot of cases of burn-out in the field and when I took a good look at what separated the successful shrinks from the ones who burned out, I figured I was not cut out for this work. I walked out of my graduate class in the middle of the semester, and started looking for a real job.
I had been working nights at a treatment center, but one of my friends worked at a 9-5 job with the state, helping people get Food Stamps, AFDC, and Medicaid. It was not really therapy, but it was helping people out and seemed like stable, predictable work. I applied for the job and was snapped up. I got comfortable there, and enjoyed the work, and believed in it. I applied for several assistant supervisor jobs, and finally landed one in the training unit, which was great because I got to teach. But the lure of more money took me over to the SSI determination farm, a job that promised more money for what seemed like less work.
That was a mistake- I wasn't teaching, I wasn't even helping people anymore. I was denying people's applications for disability, and that ate at my soul. People were jumping ship, and I followed a co-worker to the abuse hotline- they offered to match my pay, and I would not have a caseload any longer. Just talk to people for a few minutes at a time, and send the information to field staff to take care of the situation. In some ways, it's the perfect job- I don't feel like it's eating my soul, I feel like I am able to help people both directly and indirectly, but it's something I can leave at the door when I go home at night. I don't love this job... I have no desire to work towards supervisor, and I'm lucky enough to be in a financial situation that allows me to be able to work part-time. I'll probably do this until I retire, which I'm told I can do as soon as 53. It satisfies my 'helping people for a living' jones, and pays the bills I incur.
It's sort of disturbing that to my critical eye, this reads like my quest for the easiest job. It comes across as lazy, and I wonder if all those teachers who assumed someone as smart as me would end up curing cancer or being a senator or something would be disappointed. The stuff I do outside of my job is where I put most of my energy- my relationship with my husband, and to my grovemates in Phoenix Moon. Neither of those things will ever make me a dime, or gain me any fame or power in the usual sense of the word. But they are what's important to me.
I was a band and art geek in school, so it seemed reasonable to pursue these subjects in college. I went through a couple of majors (music and art) to discover that just because I was good at something was no reason to get a degree in it. Which is flip; I guess what it really boiled down to was that I enjoyed doing these things, but not to the point where I wanted to make them into a job, which once it started getting really competitive, just sucked every last bit of enjoyment out of it. And you should enjoy whatever you're doing for a living, right? So I figured I'd do music and art for fun, and figure something else out for work.
Both my parents, by virtue of my father's membership in Alcoholics Anonymous and a favorable climate for alcohol recovery programs, managed to become counselors of a sort without getting formal training in it. When the climate changed, Dad moved on to other things, but Mom stuck with it and actually got certification as a substance abuse counselor. It seemed to basically be listening to people and suggesting courses of action for them. I thought "hey, I could do that", and I was really blown away by Ordinary People so I switched my major to psychology. Once again, the reality did not match my expectations. I saw that there were a lot of cases of burn-out in the field and when I took a good look at what separated the successful shrinks from the ones who burned out, I figured I was not cut out for this work. I walked out of my graduate class in the middle of the semester, and started looking for a real job.
I had been working nights at a treatment center, but one of my friends worked at a 9-5 job with the state, helping people get Food Stamps, AFDC, and Medicaid. It was not really therapy, but it was helping people out and seemed like stable, predictable work. I applied for the job and was snapped up. I got comfortable there, and enjoyed the work, and believed in it. I applied for several assistant supervisor jobs, and finally landed one in the training unit, which was great because I got to teach. But the lure of more money took me over to the SSI determination farm, a job that promised more money for what seemed like less work.
That was a mistake- I wasn't teaching, I wasn't even helping people anymore. I was denying people's applications for disability, and that ate at my soul. People were jumping ship, and I followed a co-worker to the abuse hotline- they offered to match my pay, and I would not have a caseload any longer. Just talk to people for a few minutes at a time, and send the information to field staff to take care of the situation. In some ways, it's the perfect job- I don't feel like it's eating my soul, I feel like I am able to help people both directly and indirectly, but it's something I can leave at the door when I go home at night. I don't love this job... I have no desire to work towards supervisor, and I'm lucky enough to be in a financial situation that allows me to be able to work part-time. I'll probably do this until I retire, which I'm told I can do as soon as 53. It satisfies my 'helping people for a living' jones, and pays the bills I incur.
It's sort of disturbing that to my critical eye, this reads like my quest for the easiest job. It comes across as lazy, and I wonder if all those teachers who assumed someone as smart as me would end up curing cancer or being a senator or something would be disappointed. The stuff I do outside of my job is where I put most of my energy- my relationship with my husband, and to my grovemates in Phoenix Moon. Neither of those things will ever make me a dime, or gain me any fame or power in the usual sense of the word. But they are what's important to me.
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no subject
Date: Dec. 12th, 2006 06:14 pm (UTC)From:There you go, then. You know what your priorities are, and it still involves helping people, which makes you happy. Why would stress as a means of a carrot make you feel better?
recovery
Date: Jun. 28th, 2007 11:46 pm (UTC)From: (Anonymous)