it's never as bad as you think
and it's often better than you realise
I’m changing jobs soon.
And with any reasonable person undergoing a career change, I’m getting cold feet.
The people around me are overall supportive of the move, but a looming sentiment across some, especially those who have a more traditional finance background (think actuaries, accountants, finance business partners) is that I’m making a potentially catastrophic step-back.
I want to say that I’m not usually phased by the opinions of others but that’s not entirely true. At the back of my head, I do wonder whether I’m being sold a role that isn’t what I expect and that I’m pigeon-holing my career development for the next two years as just another analyst.
And as the resilient worrier I am, it has opened questions about what I want out of my career; how much of my identity I associate into it and unknowingly drafting several phrases and excuses to defend myself.
“It’s a lateral move in terms of title.”
“It’s an increase in pay.”
“It’s establishing a new skillset.”
“It’s opening opportunities and connections more linked to the industry I’m in.”
And my most commonly used one, though I do think this one is unabashedly true:
“It’s a change of pace that I think I’d really appreciate.”
Like anyone, I get nervous about discomfort.
At the same time, once I push through that initial wall of discomfort, I find myself feeling so much better about everything.
A great example of this is waking up early.
With a super comfortable bed and a heavy blanket with its own gravitational pull, getting up before the sun feels like an insurmountable task.
I love the idea of being at tip-top shape as the first roosters crows, but when it comes to actually getting my feet on the ground, to actually setting the boundaries on my evenings/nights to allow myself the headspace for an early get-up — fucking awful, my friends, fucking awful.
But the fact of the matter is this:
I’ve never regretted waking up early.
I’ve regretted sleeping late. I’ve regretted sleeping in. In some rare instances, I’ve even regretted sleeping early because I’d miss out on some deep, exceptional conversations with the boiz over Discord call.
But once I summon that gargantuan activation energy and roll out of bed, slap my alarm clock and thoroughly resist the urge of bundling back into a blanket.
Once my eyes adjust to the artificially-set morning light and my brain realises that I don’t need to rush through my morning endeavours, that the next hour belongs exclusively to me.
I feel fucking excellent.
A similar phenomenon can be seen for other activities my introverted/lazy/anxiety-ridden self has to deal with.
It runs for large-scale things like heading to dinner with a large group, having a difficult conversation or speaking atop a podium.
It runs for small-scale things like a gym visit, doctor’s appointment or Microsoft Teams meeting.
And even mini-scale things like texting someone back or hanging the damn laundry.
I anticipate something. I shudder at the idea of it. I procrastinate to the moon and back, letting it sit neatly on a rotating sushi train in my head labelled ‘shit I need to do’ — that keeps spinning and spinning in oh-so-slow motion that I get exhausted just looking at it.
It’s like I somehow borrow the pain associated from doing something in the future without even reducing the amount of pain later. How marvelous!
My impending role change is not the reason I’ve been lethargic recently
I think it has something to do with these imaginary responsibilities of life administration, frothing together like a bubble bath, and my convoluted mind tricking me into believe they’re so much more difficult to tackle than they really are.
Health. Career. Relationships. Joy.
I refer to these four as the pillars of life.
I acknowledge that we live in a society that puts eight hours, five days a week, into the career front in a way that isn’t particularly moveable.
Lowkey, I’ve come to accept it.
(At least for now — I certainly don’t want to be in corporate work for the rest of my life.)
I’m even okay with slightly increasing the hours spend on career, so long as it isn’t unreasonable.
Surprisingly, I’m fine with the fact that we’ve only get eight hours of the weekday and sixteen hours of the weekend to build the other three. I’m okay with that.
What pisses me off is the life admin that takes place in between. The way it steals time, energy and even wealth from right beneath our noses.
Shopping for groceries. Scheduling car maintenance. Taking out the trash. Paying that strata bill. Coordinating on shared expenses. Searching for a better Wi-Fi provider. Organising my digital files. Replacing that dingy lightbulb/pillow/bathmat — and figuring out with WHAT.
Each thing on its own is a 5-15 minute job, but with all these tickets of life admin spinning in a rotary recycling bucket, it starts feeling like a never-ending obstacle course of menial tasks just to get a break.
And I think my mentality is taking a crunch.
Bit by bit, I notice that many of the things that usually bring me joy or serenity, like meal prepping or long walks or online shopping or sitting around Barangaroo for my partner to finish work, start feeling like a chore.
Everything begins to bundle together into an ugly forest of vines which I must obligatorily cut through to get to what I actually want to do — like how a child is made to eat vegetables before getting to dessert.
But perhaps, controversially so, it doesn’t need to be that way.
Sure, there is probably a decadent chocolate gelato beyond the mountainous pile of bitter brussel sprouts.
But why can’t I eat my ice cream first, because well, I’m an adult who can make my own decisions?
Especially if said ice cream is already on the table, fresh and cold, waiting for a spoon to meet its smooth, icy surface?
I’m twenty-four years old. That’s pretty young. If I’m fortunate enough to live till eighty-five, that’s a solid ~3,000 or so weeks left within me which feels like so much yet so little; because even I know how quickly a set of seven days can blitz at times.
I just know that I’d rather spend more of those ~3,000 weeks investing in my pillars of life.
It goes without question that I value those four things far more than this imaginary responsibility of life admin.
It’s never as bad as I think:
Whether it’s putting myself forward for a role that’s completely out of my depth or in this case, a sidewards movement that draws upon an entirely different skillset.
Whether it’s asking for my portion of peace in a relationship setting or reaching out to an old friend I haven’t spoken to in ages.
Whether it’s putting my health first - because I’m the one who’s going to live in my own goddamn body; and my joy first - because I’m the one who’s going to live my own goddamn life.
It’s often better than I think:
Opportunities, conversation and inspiration come from unusual places — like the dragonfly that landed on my dashboard this morning, to conversation I couldn’t help but overhear at the coffee shop, to the thoughts that traveled through my head while I made a detour for some oxtail cuts.
It’s a very real pattern, I’ve noticed.
The same way I dread getting out of bed but never regret doing so.
The same way I roll my eyes at vacuuming the apartment but genuinely feel lighter, cleaner, clearer once I do so.
Once I get over that initial hump of discomfort, everything flows, like butter in a pan.
Call it astro-doo-doo but I like to think the universe conspires in our favour.
But only if we let it do so.
Let this be a reminder that growth often lies across the crevice of discomfort.
And if I cannot do it with courage — then do it anyhow, with all the fear in my heart.
Take the sick leave for a concert you’ve always wanted to go to.
Send the job application even if it’s a shot in the dark.
Pick up a tennis racquet and fuck up your serve eight times in a row.
Buy those expensive-ass Issey Miyake pleats.
Try that new restaurant off the corner of Clarence St that you always pass by but never seem to hear much about.
Publish your blog post, as rambling and unresearched and embarrassing as it is, because who knows where it might lead you, twenty years down the track.
I promise you it’ll be worth it.
