A Rant: The Passage of Time
As the words, “You don’t have a job,” float through my mind, I think about this world that I’m in: both the one I have built for myself and the one we all live in at large. Someone close said those words to me, I don’t think with the intention of being hurtful, but they were exceptionally hurtful nonetheless. My one-year anniversary at work was a little over a week ago. There’s a lot to say about that.
Today, I spent eight straight hours serving no purpose whatsoever. My job is nothing glamorous apart from the rare few hours I get to spend on my office projects. Otherwise, I feel like nothing more than a slave. The only reason I stay in the company is for the people in whom I find considerable meaning and purpose. However, as I’ve written, those people are mostly gone now.
Yet time passes. It’s already April. It feels like the year only just started. And what have I accomplished? It’s fair to say, “a lot”: I started my artist collective, built the website, started hosting events. I’ve also had many experiences in these few months. When I ask myself what I want to accomplish, though, things look different. I want to read and write and make art. I don’t even know how to express the disconnect I feel between myself, these goals, and my projects. Ultimately, the fact is that I’m not doing what I really want to do.
Today, as a tourist handed me a 5,000kr bill, then stared at me blankly — as has happened hundreds of times — I said the usual, “It’s 6,290,” to which I received yet another blank stare. Then, after a few seconds, “Oh, I thought that was 50,000.” My thought was, “Is this my life?” My supervisor had me stand for 90 minutes in the middle of nowhere for no reason. Because apparently that helps the people who never actually ask me for help. She wouldn’t know they don’t ask me for help because she doesn’t stand in that spot herself. So I stand there. Hour after hour, day after day, questioning what I’m doing with my life.
“How do I get to the first floor?” “By taking the stairs you are currently standing on to the first floor.” “How much does a ticket cost?” “It says on that sign right next to you which says ‘Ticket Price.’” I repeat the same sentences on repeat day after day after day after day, having the same interactions over and over and over again. I hear the same jokes, the same stories, the same comments on endless repeat. “The exit is the last gate… No, not the second one, the last one… No, not the third one, the last one… Yes, that one that say ‘Exit.’” “Oh, haha, I didn’t see the sign.” Today, our supervisor told us we aren’t alowed to sit in the one single chair we have access to in the entire building when talking to guests. Because that’s unprofessional. God forbid a customer should interact with someone sitting down. What a horrendous nightmare that would be for our company’s reputation.
Later, I go over to my colleagues and chat with them because they are my friends. Suddenly, the day becomes enjoyable — we get to engage in a little shared humanity. There are no customers around, and we are vehemently aware of our surroundings and anyone approaching. “Go back to your stations,” the supervisor says, “It looks bad for the guests if you’re talking and not at your stations.” God forbid a customer should see the company staff enjoying their job. So, I walk back to my station, 4 meters away, and lose any and all motivation to hold a fake smile or act cheerful as I continue repeating my same sentences in solitude. Meanwhile, another colleague leaves his station to go chat with the supervisor. They have a grand old time while I watch from afar.
“You don’t have a job.” I gave up my home, my friends, my family, my job, my education, my career, and a lot of money — and years of my youth — for this. No, I wasn’t happy before, and that’s why I came. But that doesn’t negate my sacrifice. How I came here unemployed and homeless. How I lived in terrible conditions for two years. Moving, moving, moving, moving. Stepping on my roommate’s contacts that she threw on the bathroom floor each night. Living with five other people in a cramped, dirty, falling-apart apartment where I could never use the bathroom or the kitchen. Where I stored food in my closet with my clothes because I had no space elsewhere.
I went part time so I could maintain my sanity in this madness that is my workplace. From 100% employment to 65%. That does not mean I do not have a job. My free time, that missing 35% of work hours, is spent on: my writing group, my reading group, the philosophy group, the library group, studying Icelandic, teaching Icelandic, studying Russian, writing this blog, maintaining my website, my general writing, my reading, my photography, the artist collective, and fixing up my apartment. I also have a social life and go to events sometimes.
Enough ranting. Though I will happily admit that it feels good to get all that off my chest. I also understand that the comment wasn’t meant to be a jab or anything hurtful. We were talking about dividing tasks and time requirements when it happened. I make time. If something is important, then I make time for it. The end. I know a thing or two about time at this point.
I do what I must. I’ve been applying to jobs for two years. In those two years, I’ve had two responses to my applications: my current job, and the pharmaceutical company I turned down. All the others resulted in no answer. It doesn’t really bother me because I’ve made peace with the life I’ve had… until now. I think that as of today, I have reached my breaking point.
Time will keep passing. I want to move forward with it, not stay stuck repeating the same words to the same types of people who are shocked that they’ve only encountered foreigners working everywhere. “Where are all the Icelanders?” they ask us. “Working all the other jobs that don’t involve tourism,” we answer. My colleagues all have PhDs, Masters’, or are in school for them. Iceland is a harsh place if you haven’t caught that yet.
There are no words in existence to express how much I am looking forward to my trip in May — to getting away from work and the city and all my duties and obligations. For one month, I will be among artists, doing nothing but what I want to do. In peace. Then, when I return, I will readjust my life. If that means quitting my job, then so be it. I’ll be unemployed if I must. I’ve endured enough. My Icelandic will be good enough (the goal of this trip) to finally escape the foreigner industry.
As much as I have to say about what I’ve been through, I still don’t see any of it as negative. It hurts. I suffered. It was endless pain. But in the end, I’m stronger and better for it. My appreciation for all the little things only grows and grows. The peace of looking out my window at the mountains and the ocean while I do dishes is a profound beauty that is no longer lost on me. Nothing is taken for granted anymore. I also understand what other people go through. I understand the parents at my workplace who do not have the liberty to work part time, for the sake of their partners and children. I worked 200-hour months. I worked night shifts followed by early-morning shifts the next day (just this past weekend, I did that). I understand what it means to do what you must.
The experiences I’ve had give me perspective, motivation, and magnificent material for my creative work. I can say that I’ve experienced the most human of experiences. Obviously not everything, but still quite a lot.
This is my life. I can do whatever I want with it. I can pack up, move to another country, rent out my apartment here, and never need to work another day in my life. That is not what I want to do. I want to be here. I like this country. I like these people. So I will keep working this job as long as I must. In response to, “You don’t have a job,” I say, “What in God’s name do you think I’m doing with my time and my life, then?”
The only meaningful thing is action. I’ve said that hundreds of times by now in my writing. It’s the truth. Nothing will change, otherwise. In fact, I think I would be quite depressed if I looked at my life, my current job, and had no idea what to do. “How do I get out of this?” would be the question running through my mind. The thought is harrowingly sad. However, I am very motivated by the fact that I have the answer to that question: action. How I get out of this is by doing whatever I can to get out of it. Writing. Running groups. Doing my photography. Learning languages. Meeting people. Engaging with society. And having a plan, like my trip.
We’re only slaves to this broken world if we allow ourselves to be. Identify what gives you meaning, and do whatever it takes to pursue that. Even if that means giving up everything you’ve ever known. Even if that means working a job that makes you question whether the human race deserves to go on. It’s all temporary. But if you don’t take action, then it really is forever.