I don’t want my job to define who I am.

A conversation with oneself in response to The Daily Post writing prompt, Money for Nothing.

“If you’re like most of us, you need to earn money by working for a living. Describe your ultimate job. If you’re in your dream job, tell us all about it — what is it that you love? What fulfills you? If you’re not in your dream job, describe for us what your ultimate job would be.”

“Ugh, I hate questions like these.”

“But you hate most of the questions I gave you, anyway. What makes this one any different?”

“The word job gives me the heebie-jeebies. I mean, it’s still 8 in the morning, why are we talking about job? Isn’t it bad enough that I am already back to work that we had to talk about it too?”

“Hey, it’s not like I want to. I was just reading the writing prompt. So, are we going to do this or not?”

“I don’t think I have an ultimate job. I could have said something that has to do with writing, but the thought of making something that I like to do in my free time as a job just take all the fun out of it. I mean, what constitutes as a job anyway?”

“Here’s one definition from the Oxford dictionary, it says that job is a paid position of regular employment.”

“Ugh, please tell me you feel the goosebumps when you read that definition.”

“Why should I?”

“A paid position of regular employment? That’s what adults do at their job. They go to work in the morning, or at night depending on what you do for a living, and go home after a decent amount of time spent doing your job. At the end of the month, or beginning of the month depending on your job, you’ll get paid. That is what I am currently doing. And I hate it. Imagine if I made the one single thing I like, let’s say writing in this case, and make it my job; in just a matter of time it’ll become something that haunts me because it became something that I must do in order to get paid to sustain my daily life, instead of something that I could do for fun when I feel tired from my day job. In conclusion, I don’t have an ultimate job, because job sucks and boring, and there’s nothing to be loved from there. It’s just a means to my end. It pays the bill. It allows me to buy books and read them that eventually and hopefully help me with my writing.”


“Look, it’s just a job. It doesn’t have to define who I am. I don’t have to be so preoccupied at what my ultimate job and what I like about it or anything. It’s something that gives me money to sort of enjoy my life, however small it is. It’s not who I am. And I really don’t want to be defined, or associated with what I do for a living.”

“Wow, you are very passionate about this job thing, aren’t you?”

“It’s not about passionate. I just hate these comments about how I’m not acting like a proper person should act in my line of work. I don’t have to change who I am just so I can fulfill someone else’s stereotype about people who had the same job as I am. Phew, I’m glad we had this talk. I’m just very agitated this morning because I’ll have a meeting after lunch today, and, ugh, I shudder just thinking about it.”

“Oh, man, I feel your pain. I mean, I’m the one who’s actually had to physically be in the meeting and you’re just going to get all anxious and figuratively sweaty in my head.”


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