I'm Back!

Three years ago, I was completely, unequivocally, 100 percent burned-out. Without a shadow of doubt, I was exhausted. I loved my day job, yet loathed the district politics and commute around the city to get to it. My second job was overnight - and physically taxing - yet it was the way out of debt. I had gotten married eight months earlier to my still-incredible wife, and at the time, I hadn't hit the wall. Was I irritable? Yeah, but that was if I had slept fewer than the four hours daily I had become accustomed to during the week. Saturdays were made for sleeping and bill paying, I reasoned as the weight gain and Eff You looks mounted. Besides, that is the day I only worried about the pets department at Wal-Mart. My zone supervisor was OK with any end cap decisions made because 1) my selectons sold quickly, and 2) it was something he didn't have to worry about come Monday morning. As for Sundays, ours were centered around the following:  sleep, church, the families, and grading classwork. Planning the current week's wok also fell on this day; some classes were simply ahead because they grasped the concepts quicker, while others required an act of Congress to complete a five-question pop quiz over the material we had reviewed.

Within five weeks I told myself both jobs could suck it.

How could I surrender my dream? Why did I despise my passion that final year? And what was I doing holding on to the employer that really had not done much for me since my college days so many years ago? I sold my company stock four years ago and the 401K was something of a no-no to consider touching. In effect, retail jail became county jail. I lifted weights ( just kidding, only 1,600 lbs. of dog food); ate when I was told; and kept my mouth shut. The blue t-shirts did not exactly help my case, nor did the other restrictions (no headphones, pants up, hats are for outside, etc.) management seemingly pulled out of thin air and added to company policy. All the hoops I had to jump through for a 50-cent raise and the red tape preventing the other dime? Keep it. You're the reason why I have to take Flexereil for my aching back, the tennis elbow that won't stop, and plantar facscitis in my left foot. Paying $300 per shot is not worth my health - and certainly not my happiness. That same money should have gone somewhere else, like savings or toward gas for two SUVs.

Fast forward three years to the present day. My graveyard gig which pays marginally better than the day job I left bores the piss out of me. This is the picture of a dead-end job albeit a very easy role.

What exactly do I need?

I want to be paid fairly for what I know and make a positive difference for many years in the lives of so many people. Perhaps that is the new father in me talking because I want to be able to watch my daughter grow up. Will a 8-4, Monday through Friday make me happy? What if I have an anxiety attack in rush hour traffic? Or I realize I'm so socially awkward that I fail to engage with other "normal" daytime people and find myself retreating to night shift?

Well, why don't I teach again? one would (often) inquire. It's a subject that my wife has broached twice in the three years since I left the education profession, and recertification isn't exactly cheap. I do not know if my heart would be fully committed to the next twenty-five to thirty years in a field more disrespected than President Obama yet I think the time away has provided enough perspective toward a more successful return. Then again, I'd rather write for a living but there is no money in that for an average guy in a crowded, complex world of full-time writers, bloggers, and so forth.

Three years ago I burned-out. Today, I feel the flames of passion reigniting for something greater than myself or what being a peon could ever provide.