There are, undoubtedly, a great number of things that I like about my job. For reasons not necessary to go into here, however, this is a rather dark moment at my publication, as it is for many others. I’ve been unhappy at work for some time now, and the independent projects I’ve been working on—my book, this blog, hell, my baby—are in certain ways a reaction to that unhappiness.
But like I said, there are good things about it, too. It’s completely deadline-based, which means the hours are what I make of them. For me that translates into arriving at work earlier than my lazy-ass publishing colleagues and, conversely, leaving work early as well (while my drunk-ass publishing colleagues get liquored up and edit articles). This scheduling freedom has essentially made it possible for me to be an active parent, particularly during the period of divorce. Without it, I doubt that I would have joint custody of JP.
And yet, and yet, and yet. Lately, it’s been a struggle to come to work each day. I’ve come close on several occasions to simply walking out. Then yesterday, I was offered another job. Their would be a major drop-off in the prestige of the publication, and the creativity and cultural relevance of my work, but the pay would be considerably better, the title would be an improvement, and I wouldn’t be in the same environment.
The major obstacle surrounds the time I am able to spend with my children. My potential new employer would very likely not give me the same freedom I enjoy now. As a result, I’m probably going to turn down the offer.
But it won’t be easy.