The more things change, the more they stay the same

NOTE: If you have a friend who is studying industrial psychology, refer them to this post because it’s probably a decent case study.

If you've read this blog for some time, maybe you've come to realize that this contributor worked in 5 of the most caustically crappy agencies I think I could have chosen. Back tracking on my career, it’s almost as if I was trying to emulate Raging Bull with my job choices, going to work at places that were infamous for the typical ad sins: bullshit work hours, no budget, slave trading ways, etc. and always asking for more and insisting that I never went down, even though I was taking a hell of a beating. Well more than a year and a half ago I began my first job outside of an agency.

It was odd and weird because I started to see typical office setting behavior and was disturbed to see things from sitcoms happening right there, at arm’s length from me. But for the longest of time, I’d been satisfied because my quality of life had taken a drastic upturn in comparison to what I was used to. People were appreciative and I felt as if my 110% was finally being taken into consideration. I could leave earlier, and the workload was something I could deal with. But there were familiar signs here and there of things I truly hated from advertising. Dormant egos waiting to bloom; manners forgotten; kindness lost to bureaucracy and ass kissing of all kinds on display and rewarded by “professionals” that though higher up in the food chain, were just as much of an ass kisser as the bottom feeders I hated.

A couple of months ago I found myself huffing and puffing similar to what I used to do in Ad Land. I didn’t like that I was relapsing into the frustration that almost became a trademark of my demeanor. Slowly but surely, I found that people I had grown fond of for being different to the typical beasts in the Ad jungle were slowly metamorphosing into those very disgusting creatures I’d grown to hate with a passion.

Speaking of passion. The novelty of what I had been doing was quickly fading and I realized that a lot of people around me talk a great game, but have no substance and that in the end, they delegated most of their duties, took all the credit and at best gave a small pat on the back. I found myself treading through ghostly advertising-like lanes in a corporate setting. Suddenly my 110% was being taken for granted, I’d grown to loathe a coworker to the point of smiling every time I thought of a way they could find an early demise and what was once a cozy cove of a cubicle, had become a disgusting cell that assailed anything I could consider productive. What I used to call creative I now call innovative and it’s just as hard for it to survive if you sail a decent idea down the pipeline.

And as recently as today, it dawned upon me that no matter what, professional satisfaction is a fish you can’t catch and if you do, it doesn’t last long. You either eat it, let it go or let it rot through your fingers. I’ve been working my ass off, I’ve shown initiative, I’ve given ideas, I’ve written a detailed proposal for a company that might still be the place for me and I’ve met the same type of reaction that truly inspires people to quit on the turn of a dime.

I’m waking up and finding it hard to drag myself to work… a job I used to bounce all merry-like not too long ago. So I look back and I ask myself, where the hell was the turning point? When did frustration re-enter my diet and why am I so full of it? I look back and all I see is a blur in the last couple of months… a similar sensation to when I’d grown tired with an advertising job and had decided to end things before I gave the agency the chance to be the one with the moral victory of ending the relationship.

I ask myself, have I really fallen down the path of apathy yet again? And typical questions like, why is this happening? Where did I go wrong? When did I find myself unhappy again? And the like start creeping into my brain. The familiar stench of self pity is splashed with an extra shot of self hatred for feeling self pity, which makes me gag and I want to scream at the top of my lungs. I find myself being greeted with cutouts of articles talking about procrastination while supervisors and people with some leverage in the decision making business of the department are constantly rendezvousing to chat it up while I have my headphones on and I’m sending the twelfth job for the day. I’m handing things early and the thanks I get are the ones that are already embedded into the signature of an email. That and finger wagging emails highlighting trivial “mistakes” that are more style than substance and which on a rush day wouldn’t make any difference.

Then I realize something very important. I hadn’t made it out of the maze. I’d just passed to another level where there were new monsters to be felled and the layout was different, but it was still the same game. I had been suckered into thinking I was free but then I ended up asking myself who took my cheese and snapped out of the trance in time to realize I’d been doing work so a lot of people could look good while I was given the Cinderella treatment, and kept under wraps.

So though I’m not there just yet, I do feel the sneaky suspicion that further ahead on my trip, there’s another fork in the road, or maybe even a crossroad to offer me three options. It’s not that far away but I am disappointed that a road that had been so pleasant for some time has turned so disheartening.

But not all is bad. I’m finding that my typical creative outlets are actually booming in this time of desecration and I hold onto some meager strands of faith that I’ll be able to work as a writer in the future. The first draft of the book is finished, the plans for the second book are already being finalized, the story arc is being developed and I’m finding solace in my craft. Other things loom as possibilities in the horizon and I’m wishing upon a star so as to get a chance to do what I love and finally do what I’ve been trying to for so long… make a difference.

So if you’re reading this and you also happen to be in a morbid mood. Rest assured dear friend, you’re not alone. You really aren’t but if you really want out of what you’re feeling, it takes hard work, luck, or ass kissing. For my part, I still keep faith in the first two so as to never land on the third. So feel free to wish me luck, for I will do the same for you.

Cheers