Six months ago, I was so excited to accept a contract at one of the nation’s best companies to work for. It felt beyond my reach, like the kind of thing that only happened to smarter people I knew in college, never me.

I’m now halfway through my contract, and I haven’t hit any of my milestones. What once started as the pinnacle of my professional success is now the most drawn-out, terminal diagnosis of Impostor Syndrome. And it feels incredibly defeating.

I let my guard down too soon, almost as if accepting that offer was the equivalent of a goalie celebrating a premature victory as a game-winning point is about to be scored under her nose. I can’t help but feel I’ve squandered someone else’s dream opportunity, a once-in-a-lifetime chance to really prove themselves.

There’s no pretty way to say it: I have a great job, but I’m not doing well in it.

In general, I hate being bad…at anything. My likes and dislikes are entirely dictated by where my natural skillsets lie. For example, I enjoy writing, dancing, and public speaking. I despise doing math, using technology, and talking about cars.

Sometimes, I don’t think I continue writing because I enjoy it. I only enjoy it because I’m better at it than other things. It’s actually my favorite thing to do because of all my relative strengths, it’s my best one.

On the flip side, I once agreed to try CrossFit with my boyfriend. After an hour of sloppily throwing up weights that were too heavy for me and grinding through circuits of box jumps and sit-ups, I waited until we were securely inside his car to unleash a faceful of hot tears.

“Don’t ever ask me to do that again,” I told him, sobbing into his t-shirt. That was the first and last time I will ever do CrossFit.

The experience was my personal nightmare: Not only was I bad at something, I had to be publicly bad at it.

When I find myself in a situation where I don’t thrive, my instinct is to emotionally detach. It’s a defense mechanism to protect myself from the feeling of defeat. If I can convince myself that my priorities are far removed from what I’ve failed at, then I can believe the failure was a reflection of misplaced effort instead of me as a person or my true ambitions in life.

Lately, I’ve been telling myself: My job is not my life-long career or a source of fulfillment. It is a contracted responsibility, a legal obligation where I clock 40 hours a week to secure financial stability. Nothing more, nothing less.

My life would be a lot easier if I actually believed that.

The unfortunate reality is: I take my job very personally.

A job is not just a job to me—it’s a test of my ability to succeed and be good at something. I don’t mean to sound ambitious or overzealous about what a profession means to me, especially because that’s misleading; I’ve realized a pristine and proper career isn’t a life priority of mine (if that wasn’t clear from the raunchy and incriminating blog posts I promote on literally every one of my social media accounts).

It is just in my nature to try very hard at something—anything—that could reveal my weakness or inability. Heck, I take a game of Tetris as seriously as I do my job. It’s not that I have any real stakes in manipulating colorful shapes to fit together nicely. I just fucking hate losing and being bad at stuff. If I could actualize failure into a living, breathing person, I would jump that sucker in a dark alley and punch it until my knuckles were raw bone.

So why am I sharing my violent fantasies toward failure on this balmy Tuesday?

Beyond offering you some bathroom reading at the office, I think it’s important to share the times we feel at rock bottom, especially when people from the outside may mistakenly believe we are one of the lucky ones who “has it together.” Real life is not my edited resume or my LinkedIn bio or my shiny corporate job title.

The biggest disservice we can do to the younger generation is to be glamorous about such a gritty part of our adult selves: our careers. It’s wrong to pretend that we didn’t also question our direction in life at one time or another, to feign self-assurance as we bounced around the job market, and to reduce the complex strains of professional and personal gratification to humble-brag photos of our swanky downtown office.

That is smellier BS than the “What’s your greatest weakness?” question.

As taxing as our professional development may be, it’s worth noting that feeling defeated doesn’t necessarily mean you are defeated. In a classic story arc, the protagonist will always experience the crisis before reaching the climax, the turning point of their journey.

Our darkest times probably the best predictors of approaching dawn. It’s the only change we can notice from the adapted blackness of rock bottom. *cues My Chemical Romance*

As uncomfortable as it is to feel defeated, it is actually the best possible environment for growth.

Defeat necessitates that we acknowledge our starting point, which can feel like ground zero all over again. Defeat requires us to endure these moments of paralyzing stagnancy before we rise to action. Before we choose change. Before we overcome.

I’ve talked to a few coworkers in the same [seemingly sinking] boat, and contrary to our natural reactions, I’ve decided there’s no ROI in worrying.

One of two things will happen at the end of my contract:

1. I will have improved, and will continue to work at this company, or
2. I will not have improved, and will work elsewhere.

Not so bad, right? I’m sure worse things have happened to far better people.

With those outcomes in mind, I have a few actionable items in front of me:

1. Push through this feeling of defeat and try harder, work smarter, and keep at it until I succeed (or at the very least, don’t suck as much).
2. Push through this feeling of defeat and start building toward the next turning point of my career.

A smart person will pick one and commit. A smarter person will realize the two aren’t mutually exclusive.

The only thing that ties us to defeat is the belief we don’t have options. We always have options. I don’t know if it is truly our choice to feel defeated, but I know for certain it is our choice to stay that way.

***

More reading

→ It’s Okay Not To Be Passionate About Your Job

→ Area Woman Maintains Professional Persona Between Weekends of Getting Mercilessly Dicked

CHICAGO—Feeling refreshed from a weekend of nonstop coitus and sinfully creative foreplay, local woman Sarah Goodman arrived to work early on Monday to catch up on emails. “Sarah is one of the highest performers in the department,” reported her manager Glen Frederick, who ran into Goodman in the kitchen and ignorantly directed conversation toward the weather instead of the saucier topic of how aggressively she was shagged less than 24 hours ago.

When asked about her weekend, the 26-year-old digital strategist reportedly made no mention of the dozens of borderline abusive acts she requested her partner perform on her genitalia last Friday. Her polite and conservative response further proved how her adopted office persona was an adequate veil for the sexual deviance that would surely jeopardize her good standing with HR and any chance of promotion.

Goodman was described by her previous supervisor as a strong technical lead who exemplified professional maturity, which largely contrasts her covert participation in questionable activities outside of business hours—she has reportedly referred to her sexual partners as father figures despite the absence of any true biological relation.

Multiple sources confirmed that Goodman’s latest training module used none of the foul language typically heard through her thin bedroom walls—spoken at a volume that countered her own request that “they had to be quiet tonight.”

“I’m excited to work with such a motivated team,” said Goodman, adding that the upcoming project would bring the company to an unprecedented amount of revenue, an accomplishment that pales in comparison to her most recent 2.5-hour session of wild and uninterrupted fornication.

Colleagues shared that Goodman was “highly organized” and “an insightful mentor” around the office. At press time, she was seen compiling user feedback surveys and not seeking opportunities to have her posterior tenderized like a fresh cut sirloin steak. She proceeded to conduct herself appropriately as if she were a dynamic and socially adjusted person, capable of compartmentalizing her life to simultaneously promote her professional advancement and satiate her fuck-nasty libido through impromptu gang bangs.

I love Sundays. Time to reflect on the week ahead, the life ahead. I’ve been reading Blaine Harden’s “Escape from Camp 14” about one man’s journey from birth inside a North Korean labor camp to freedom and enlightenment in the outside world (I highly recommend this book!). The protagonist Shin describes his fellow prisoners as he planned his escape, and this line really stuck with me:

“They were like cows, he thought, with a cud-chewing passivity, resigned to their no-exit lives.”

Even in the free world, many of us remain complacent about lives that don’t do us justice. We function in a way that guarantees our short-term sustenance, like a cow filling its belly to sleep well for the night. And the longer we lead these comfortable lives, the harder it is to imagine starving temporarily to feast like kings. It takes persistence to endure the long haul. It takes sacrifice to see a world beyond what we know.

Of course, it’s hard to imagine—we haven’t experienced it yet.

Our inability to envision better days does not, and should not, undermine our will to work toward something greater. Even in its obscurity, it’s a chance to improve life as we know it. Early explorers didn’t think to themselves, “We shouldn’t embark on this voyage until we know exactly what the New World looks like.”

We’re in a great place to be chasing better days because there’s a 99.9% chance our journey won’t cause us to die from dysentery. Let’s count our blessings here.

Stepping back from lollipops and daisies dream-chasing, I get we have bills to pay. We have rent due. The big O they told us about in sex ed actually turned out to be Obligation to pay off student loans. We have foundational needs that make us chew the cud until our jaws ache.

These are aspects of life—not life itself. 

Another poignant part of the book: When Shin is on the brink of making a run for it, he has an “if not now, when?” moment. Then he takes off in a dead sprint.

When I was in kindergarten, I wanted to be an inventor or scientist. In junior high, that changed to an interior designer, and in high school, a lawyer. I’m two years out of college, and likely my aspirations, both professional and personal, will change in the coming months. But wherever to my sights are set, my commitment is to hunt with an insatiable hunger. We’re in the age of execution. Less “I want to be…” and more “I’m working toward….”

Our enlightenment won’t be as drastic as that of a labor camp escapee from the reign of a wicked, brown-eyed Pillsbury Doughboy. We have the privilege of scooting along in our lackadaisical ways with no threat of punishment, and also no potential for reward. Windows half-open, stomachs conditioned to be full before dessert, this is comfortable living.

But feed cannot substitute internal fuel—our unquenchable human desire to achieve and create, to help others and stand for something, to be great and remembered.

The fence cannot replace the horizon.

We are not cows. We were not meant to merely survive, but to live and live famously.

I work in the fast-paced, high-demand world of biopharmaceutical recruiting. On a daily basis, I connect professionals to companies where they will discover and develop game-changing medicine and technology. These are the bright minds eradicating diseases that plague strangers to dearly loved ones, the thought leaders curing sicknesses that threaten even their own bodies—somehow, they got stuck talking to me.

On top of being immersed in a compelling industry that has a direct contribution to human welfare, I work for a company with a conscience. Our core values were chosen by popular vote in a company-wide, open forum discussion, which was pretty cool. The leadership is inspirational and I have the privilege of learning directly from my CEO on a weekly, if not daily basis. I’m appropriately recognized, and have been promoted twice within my first year, which is LinkedIn profile gold and every millennial’s professional wet dream.

My direct managers are brilliant mentors who have a personal investment in my success—and it doesn’t hurt they share my weird sense of humor. On a deeper level, I believe my coworkers are people who do the right thing. I actively look forward to seeing them everyday, at the many company-hosted social events and self-planned Sunday brunches.

Honestly, I have it good. I’ve been given second chances, accolades for my progress, and now high-level responsibilities I didn’t think I was prepared to handle. My projects are a source of pride and accomplishment, both as an individual and as a collective. I’m presently challenged and guided on a tangible path for advancement. My job is ultimately to help people lead better lives. Between the hours of 9am and 5pm, I find myself smiling a lot.

Would I say I am passionate about my job? Not at all.

Passion implies a deep and intrinsic enthusiasm for something, a manic obsession and inextricable part of who you are. You think about your passion every day. You dream of it awake. Even when life has taken you in a different direction, you are inclined to your passion like a moth to a flame, even when it doesn’t make any sense.

It is not a choice to have a passion—your passion chooses you. It can be impractical, inconvenient, and downright stupid to love what you love. But all the drawbacks are worth that high feeling, that warm hug of belonging that says, “This is what I was meant to do.”

My job is not my passion.

I don’t know when careers were deemed one size fits all solutions to cloak us with complete life satisfaction. It’s ambitious to expect a job to provide your bread and butter and authentic emotional fulfillment. As much as we would like, happiness is not covered in the standard healthcare plan. When I signed my offer letter, I committed my hard work, not my heart.

We don’t peruse the produce section for a decadent dessert, so why are we disappointed when our workplaces aren’t a bountiful source of paradise’s hottest commodity, Passion with a capital P?

I don’t mean to present passion and profession as mutually exclusive—many have succeeded in making their passions their careers. It’s possible, but not realistic for everyone. More commonly, I think people learn to find passion in their careers, which is an excellent use of synthetic happiness, a feeling you create when you don’t get what you want. Think of it as a cup of joe brewed with equal parts optimism and gratitude.

What I have for my job is not passion, but investment. I tanked my first few months at my company, earning myself what felt like a permanent position at rock bottom. I told my manager I would not leave until I figured it out. No matter how hard I was struggling, no matter how many hours I clocked, no matter how often I left the office after sunset and cried in my car, I would succeed.

Along with support from my colleagues, my investment and my stubborn rejection of failure have earned me a newly positive career outlook. In terms of actual enjoyment, I could love or hate my job—it would have no effect on my work ethic because my need for success outweighs my need for happiness.

Employers should prefer invested employees to passionate ones. My commitment to my company is immune to bad days and personal vendettas. Because what motivates a passionate employee when their enthusiasm wanes? This is the same reason arranged marriages have lower divorce rates than love-based marriages.

Feelings are ephemeral, and leave passionate employees dangerously susceptible to abandonment.

While there are aspects of my job that are rewarding, I’m much happier compartmentalizing my profession as separate from, even opposite of, my passion. Some days, it feels like an elaborate prank that my career relies on my oral communication skills—I’d laugh if the irony weren’t so cruel. Dramatics aside, it’s not a woeful or negative thing to work a passionless job. I perceive it as a neutral.

In the same way you don’t find love with every person you date, you won’t find passion in every job you work. I think the experience is worthwhile because, hopefully, you come out better on the other side. And even if it doesn’t reach the zenith of whatever it is you’re seeking, there are still happy days.

I don’t need passion in my job because I know it exists elsewhere. I know exactly where it lives: in my notebooks, in scribbles on receipts at the bottom of my purse, in drafts in my mind.

I’m not passionate about my job now, but this could change—the way natural love can grow from mere attachment. My current job may be shaping a future interest. It may be a necessary checkpoint or detour to a final destination where I find passion when I least expect it.

Until then, I am content with doing what I need to do. I work 40+ hours a week in a passionless job, and that’s perfectly okay.