I don’t equate my life with my work.
I recently had the (mis)fortune to overhear a conversation in which a girl was complaining about her colleague. The colleague had said: ‘Work is not my life,’ having booked time off at Christmas. The girl had responded incredulously, not understanding how he could think that when work enables the payment of rent, food and other necessities.
Whilst the girl had a point, she misunderstood the point. Her colleague wanted time off to see his family, and enjoy Christmas; that is where his ‘life’ is. I feel very sorry, really, for people who don’t have a life outside of work. If all we’re living for is to go to work and pay the bills, that seems soulless to me. (I think, ultimately, the girl was simply bitter because she hadn’t been able to get time off, but that’s not really relevant.)
I think we all need something to live for – some purpose that keeps us going. In my lowest times, one of the things I focus on is my desire to write at least one novel in my life. It helps me to ‘keep on keeping on’, as they say.
I gave up a job about a month ago, even though I had a lot of fun there and it was (sort of) related to the career in Communications I think I’d like. But it was too stressful: I didn’t have the energy to work on things I consider to be my ‘life’.
Since starting my new, purely administrative role, my days are less fun, admittedly, but I am not coming home stressed and depressed, too tired to work on my dreams. The reason my blog has been quiet, for example, is because I’m finishing off my album and I’ve been making progress on my non-fiction book.