Dear Day Job,
I can’t believe it’s been five years. I remember our first day together as pure magic. I sat in orientation pinching myself because you were my new reality. I took pride in becoming a part of such a rich legacy of creativity and storytelling.
A giant Mouse hugged me and handed me a prize after I correctly answered the question, “What is our mission?”
We create happiness.
I couldn’t believe that my job was going to be making people happy. What an honor. What a privilege. What a dream—my dream.
You just won’t be my happily ever after.
Memories and magic and laughter fill our last five years together, but somewhere along the way, you stopped being my dream job and became a day job (you know a nice way of describing a job people don’t like anymore).
Don’t feel bad—it devastated me too.
I never imagined that I would fight back the tears driving to work when I had you for a job, so I understand the shock you must be feeling right now.
But here we are. I’m not mad anymore. I’d actually like to thank you for several things.
Thank you for paying me barely a living wage.
Yeah, I said it. In the beginning I didn’t care because I honestly just loved that I had tricked somebody into paying me to do my dream job.
Now that you’re just a day job, I’ve turned it into a super fun game of creative budgeting because being in a position where you can save money is boring—living paycheck to paycheck gives me the excitement I crave. If you paid me more, I’d probably be frivolous in my spending and would never have learned to be so resourceful and wise with money (except the whole saving thing).
Thank you for draining the energy out of me five days a week.
I give you my best 40 hours each week even though you’re no longer my dream job. I have a new dream I’m working towards, and you don’t make it easy.
But if it were easy, where would the value be? You’re forcing me to learn the discipline of time management—a skill I’ve yet to master, but am excited to continue practicing.
Thanks for making me miserable.
Comfort is an enemy to progress. For a few years, I genuinely loved coming to work.
We had fun which helped me ignore the fact that you were not meant to be my purpose. If had you remained my delight and not become my duty, I never would have realized that my passions have outgrown you.
Thanks for pushing me to the breaking point, so I could finally have the courage to start fighting for something more.
Thank you for undervaluing me.
I don’t think you did it on purpose, but the reality is I’m just a number and am easily replaceable.
I’m restless because I know my talents aren’t being utilized to their full potential. You’ve made it easy to walk away when I do find an opportunity to follow my true passions.
Thank you for showing me reality.
I don’t want you to get the idea that I’m ungrateful.
You’ve taught me a secret—reality is defined more by our attitudes than our situations. We can’t control what life may throw at us, but we can control how we respond.
Bitterness is a choice not a circumstance.
You’re not my ideal circumstance anymore, but I refuse to make it worse by growing bitter.
You pay me to act like a fool to make people laugh while they’re celebrating birthdays or anniversaries or adoptions or beating cancer.
You pay me to give people a reason to smile when the world has handed them nothing but tears—like the little boy who suddenly lost his parents and needs a little hope to face his life now or the woman who received a hopeless diagnosis and needs a little joy and peace to face her death.
And for as long as you pay me, I have the great responsibility to remind people (including myself) that the world is still full of hope and love and joy and wonder if we take the time to look.
Just because you drive me crazy most days doesn’t mean I’m not going to strive to give you my best for as long as I’m with you because what I do is important.
I create happiness.
But I don’t do it for you or the company or the sales numbers. I create happiness for the people who need it because sometimes I still pinch myself that I get paid to make people smile.
Sincerely,
Sarah
P.S. – I don’t love you anymore. I’m not done with you yet though, but from here on out, we’re just friends. Hope you understand.
