Guilt

How ironic is it that I am finally being paid to write, and now I don’t have time to write? That’s sort of what happened, though. And there is some guilt. I have a job in marketing as a writer. I have been here almost two years now. They treat me well. I enjoy the work. I don’t mind coming in each day. These things have never coincided before in a job. Oh, yes, but the guilt.

I used to teach. I taught English at a community college. I primarily taught students who were coming back to college, but they needed some remedial help with English before they could tackle composition classes. I loved it, and I loved them. I was young, and I got bogged down in my own ego and success. I was successfully climbing the ladder, but the higher I went the worse I felt. I hated it up there. The air was putrid. But, I didn’t climb back down a few rungs. I’m not entirely sure why I didn’t, but it was mostly due to my own ego. That fucker will trip you up every time. There’s really no nice way to say that.

So, I left. I took some time to figure out what would make me happy because I was pretty miserable. I stumbled upon my current position and took a leap. I was pretty sure during the first few days that I had made a huge mistake. Why was everyone smiling all the time? Where was the palpable stress hanging in the air? It wasn’t there. It still isn’t.

Most days are filled with writing, editing, and planning. I love all of those things. People will ask me what I do, and I proudly tell them. But, what’s my purpose? So far, it seems like my purpose is to be happy, and I do like that. However, who am I helping? There’s no crisis each day. There’s no fire to put out. There may be a rush job for printing, but there are never tears. Did I trade helping others for my own happiness? And this is where the guilt comes in.

I’m not entirely sure where I will go from here. I’m finding some new ways to get that feeling of helping others through some volunteer work. I do know this. I’m still Marching Fourth.