We all want to do something we love. If we achieve that we’ll never work a day in our lives, right? So they say. The reality for most of us, though, is we often don’t get much of a choice. We need to do what pays the rent and those jobs are rarely in line with our hobbies.
Over summer, with it being peak tourist season, I’ve been working non-stop. And while I know it’s necessary (my rent won’t pay itself) I’ve found myself struggling with identity. The more I’ve been working the less I feel like me. I’m no longer Rebecca the writer. I’m the girl from the pasty shop.
After work (and for context, I just finished a sixty-hour week) I no longer have the time or mental energy to do any of the things I used to love—namely, reading and writing. I haven’t actually written anything new in at least two years. An essential part of who I am has slipped out to sea in a pea green boat and she might have gone too far to be towed back in. Even just writing these blog posts, something I know I used to love, has felt like I’m paddling against the current. Every single word is EFFORT. Which it never used to be. (Although, it does still feel therapeutic to put all my rambling BS on the internet…)
I speak about this because I’m sure a lot of other people feel this too. This complete loss of identity during certain parts of their working years. Especially when we’re in our twenties and still learning how to compartmentalise all the different parts of our lives—fitting our real selves alongside our work selves.
The world is huge. How do we want to fit into it? It’s an ongoing crisis.
Anyway, this isn’t a very long post and I’m not sure it has a point, really, but that sort of represents my mindset. It’s exactly why I’ve decided to take the leap and move away. More on that next week (ohhh cliff-hanger. Told you I was an author).
Have you had a mid-twenties identity crisis too? Comment below with your thoughts.