Work... part of my "real life"

A friend of mine was blogging about her job working in a kitchen. It's an interesting blog. It's called "The Kitchen's Gringa." She was talking about what direction she may like to take with her career. One of her possibilities was being a translator which to me sounded very fulfilling and worthwhile. And it got me thinking about why I hate my job so much.

Now, first I always have to say... I am grateful for my job. But I do truly hate it. Getting up in the morning to go there seems impossible more days than not. I'm sure some of that is depression related, but I know some of it is simply my hatred of the job. But why do I hate it? I think that's important to recognize so I can try not to repeat it. I hate it because it's meaningless. At the end of the day what I do there does not matter to anyone. I sell cabinet hardware to contractors. When I do have to deal with homeowners I want to crawl under my desk and scream because it's all so pointless. I don't care if your hinges match your hardware. I don't care if you can't understand why you see copper in the oil rubbed bronze finishes. I. Just. Don't. Care. And at the end of the day I make no one's life better.

Two days ago I taught a class at the gym... not a regular gig. I was just a substitute. I teach a class called BodyFlow which is a combination of tai chi, yoga, and pilates. And it's awesome. I always feel like I get so much out of teaching. But that night I had a girl come up to me after class and tell me that my meditation at the end was so amazing because it was the first time she'd been able to truly relax during meditation... and it helped her release some pain. Apparently she suffers from some chronic pain issues... and things I said helped her feel less pain. And she said she'd be following what I described in class from now on and ignoring the other people's meditation. I could not stop smiling. She truly made my day. I mean... I actually helped someone who feels tension and pain all the time... I helped them let some of that go.

I wish I could feel that every day. I wish my job meant something. When I was in my 20s right out of college I used to think that my job was just a way to pay for my "real life." But now I realize that 40 hours a week is part of my "real life" whether I like it or not... and it would be nice to be doing something that didn't drain my soul every day.

Anyway, I also am watching a documentary about Auschwitz... and all I can really think right now is "I am the most fortunate individual alive." I mean... really... I don't have problems when I look at this kind of horror. But at the same time I feel I need to not take my fortunate life for granted. I need to make it as good as I can.