Im 26, and my wife insists Ive got an issue I refuse to admit. She likes to remind me every time I quit a job or get sacked, which, admittedly, seems to happen with worrying frequency. She says its not normal for my longest stint in employment to be six months. And shes right. Sometimes I last a month, sometimes a mere fortnight, sometimes I dont even make it past the probation period.
Ive tried my hand at every sort of job you could think ofmaintenance, cleaning, sweeping streets, scrubbing toilets, lugging boxes in warehouses. I always start off with plenty of enthusiasm, but after a few days, everything starts to weigh me downbody and mind alike.
Its not just the exhaustion, though. There’s the shame. I never finished school, only got as far as Year 11. Never went back. Whenever I take up this sort of work and they hand me a high-vis vest, broom, or bucket, I get the feeling I dont belong. I watch my colleaguesgrimly resigned, carrying on without a grumbleand I tell myself, deep down, surely this cant be my life. Thats when I begin turning up late, slacking off, finding excuses not to show up. Eventually, I get the dreaded summons to the managers office: Dont bother coming in anymore.
My wife doesnt get it. Shes been slogging away in a shop for four years. The pays nothing to write home about, but shes steady. She knows exactly what shell earn every month. When I drag myself home, jobless yet again, she looks at me with a mixture of exasperation and exhaustion. She says, Its not the work, its you. You cant stick at anything. I tell her these jobs arent for me, that Im meant for something else, that I wasnt born to spend my days cleaning toilets.
This, unsurprisingly, winds her up even more. She tells me I should finish school, learn something, get some qualifications. Nobodys going to hire me for something else if I havent even got a certificate to my name. I say Ill do it, but months drift by and I never enrol. Theres always an excuseno money, no time, Ill get round to it later. Truthfully, Im terrified of going back to school as a grown-up, sitting next to teenagers, feeling like Im lagging behind.
At home, its turned into a routine. Same arguments, same complaints. She says I live in dreams, that I talk a good game but do very little. I snap back that shes become resigned to survival, not living. Sometimes, we end up shouting at each other. Sometimes, we dont speak for days. I head out again with my CV hastily folded in my pocket, returning disappointed when I hear, Well be in touch.
The worst part is, I really do dream. I dream of running my own business, of not relying on anyone, of never having to feel embarrassed about my uniform. I dream of waking up early for something thats mine, not to take orders. But dreams dont pay the rent or put dinner on the table. And she reminds me of that every day.
So, have I really got a problem Im stubbornly blind to, or do I just have the right to dream a bit bigger?
