Here’s the thing. This is the thing that really gets to me, this thing that makes me crazy because it seems to be a fact in my life that I can never escape.
I’m just happier when I’m working in politics.
If I’d known that statement would one day cross my lips when I was working on my first campaign, four years ago, I’d have laughed. I’d have thought I was being ironic, or sarcastic, or flat-out lying.
But no. It’s true. I’m happier when I’m working in politics. Every time I’ve left politics, I’ve said “Sayonara!” with the vision of green pastures and sunny days while skipping through the fields of super awesome private sector land.
With the exception of going to Chile, that has never been the case.
My first job outside of politics was at Macy’s. The Junior’s department – land of go-backs, of messy fitting rooms, of tampons abandoned in stalls. Of theft, and petty customers, and pushy management. Temporary, I thought. Something for the winter, I dreamed. Then it simply became “something.”
When I finally got out, I worked as a slimy, greasy, morally corrupt payday loan shark. I was told to lie to customers, to encourage them to take out lots more money than they could pay back, and sell my soul for the $12/hour wage. I did. I don’t feel bad about getting fired, I feel bad that I stayed as long as I did.
So it was back to politics. First doing some of the communications for a US Senate campaign, then as a Legislative Assistant, and then as Field Director for a statewide caucus organization.
The slew of new jobs made me move to Olympia, so I wasn’t happy. At first, I blamed that depression on politics. After all, as the sworn evil in my life, they must be responsible for making me sad, right? As time in our grey, rainy capitol wore on, it became clear that those jobs were the bright spots in my life. The sad aspect of life came from the small fact that my life was falling down around me as I sat in my comfortable chair in my comfortable job.
The best part was that I wasn’t slamming credit cards down the throats of teenagers. I wasn’t cramming payday loans down the throats of people who would never be able to pay them back. Sure, I wasn’t solving world hunger or anything, but I was at peace with my work, because I believed in 60% of what I was selling. That’s a lot, compared to my percentage of belief of overpriced sweaters and predatory loans.
Poli job ended, and I moved to Chile. I liked teaching, but I liked what teaching allowed me to do even more. But all around, I was never miserable with teaching, the way I was with other jobs with those other companies.
I came back. I moved to Seattle. I didn’t get my old field director gig back because the old field director gig didn’t really exist anymore – it was a different position based in Olympia.
Good, I’d said. It’ll give me the chance to get a good job in the private sector.
And I did. Marketing Manager at a new tech company. It’s a great gig.
For someone else.
You see, I spend my time Googling what’s happening in Olympia. Checking out the races, seeing who’s winning, and how I can help. I spend so much time doing it that I find myself completely uninterested in the field I’m working in.
I’m not happy, and this time, I can’t blame it on my life outside of work because that’s mostly good. I’m not happy with my job. I’m under-qualified and uninterested. I’m probably running at about 60% capacity because I’m not nearly as engaged as I was when I was being paid to brainstorm campaign ideas, discuss strategy and talk politics with co-workers and friends and constituents.
So my resume’s out there, in the hands of every political contact I could think of. And now I’m sending it out to political contacts that I don’t have.
Because apparently, I’m not happy unless I’m campaigning or teaching abroad – and teaching abroad will have to wait.
Three years. Korea.
PS. This is our new bunny, Bartholomew.
