I finally found my dream job…
…and it sucks!

The handbooks are all wrong. The experts in the field are debatable, at best. The hours are awful. The pay is insulting. There is no way the working conditions are up to code. It is borderline toxic, inhumane, even condemnable. And honestly, sometimes I wish I knew who the real boss was around here, so I could at least have someone to complain to.

I blow it…every day…every single day! I break all of the rules, shout anarchy to the masses, and then try on my newest little social experiment of contrasting ideals again and again and again. I bet they would fire me if they could, and probably should. I mean, I really, genuinely suck at this job.

But this is my dream job.

You see, I’m not the coolest. This may come as a surprise to those of you who had begun to interpret my apparent opposition to all things tasteful, as some sort of fashion forward aloofness. But, in fact, I am not gifted in anything worthy of envy. But in this job, everyone looks up to me, loves me, mimics my every move. Anything worth real admiration to the multitudes is totally lost on this crew, for which I am grateful.

I am not the prettiest. In this job, outward beauty is really pretty irrelevant…maybe even detrimental, as the preparation for pretty would just steal away the spare moments that seem to slip away faster than we can hold on. In fact, my imperfection is the perfect uniform for my profession, in that it leaves room to embrace the humility necessary to fall on my face and stand up laughing, and the perspective required in welcoming that little extra dirt under my ever-broken nails. And then there are the minions that dependably mimic me. I suppose I could swing the idea that if they are to see their own reflection as enough, then I better claim that status as well, as I am the one holding up their mirror. Thus, in this job, I can rest in my reflection, just as it is.

I am not the funniest. I try. The effort is there. But my greatest performances have always seemed to have emerged among an underage audience. And by underage, I mean single digit. Amazingly, in this job, I am still the last comic standing just in my willingness to be the fool that comes so naturally to me. I have a full house every single day and my humor is not lost on their level of maturity, often having the power to turn morale around for the whole team, taming even the wildest of critics.

Not surprisingly, my list of failures in the world of –ests could go on indefinitely. In fact, the only –ests I currently own are those far removed from the worthiness of bragging rights, and safely secured away with all of my other shame…except at my dream job. In this job, my secret world of sinful –ests are commonplace. Nobody here seems to mind them at all.

I have been known to fall (often) as I reached too high in my professional past. I have found myself clothed in my mediocrity, in the presence of the most beautiful, the most intelligent, the mosts of all, to the point of drowning in my world of ever-higher bars. I am known to collect perfect people like beanie babies, as a means of highlighting my own imperfections. And in past careers, this manifested in a continuous, downward spiral of my naturally plummeting self-esteem. But having taken on my dream job, surrounding myself with the bests has instead kept me humble, kept me learning, kept me moving upward. I get to steal the ideas of those who claim the -est, learn from the mistakes they hide from, and breathe without risk of social stigmatization, as I am so far down the social ladder that nobody would even notice a few broken rungs. I welcome each failure as an on the job training opportunity.

And so I thank God every day for my lack of fashion forward focus, for those 5 (okay maybe 10…alright 20) extra pounds, and for every other insecurity I dare to celebrate because in me, my busy, little workers see enough is enough. Enough for me. Enough for themselves. Because THEY can wear what they want, look how they do, be who they are, and see a reflection that is true.

I thank God that everything I own is invaluable enough for destruction and never stops us from our important work of living and learning and growing. And that the boss that wakes up in the morning, as unfortunate as I may be, is the same boss they will get all day long, like it or not, so there is never a missed opportunity due to a wardrobe change or unnecessary rituals in professionalism.

I thank God every day for my lack of fun funds to fill us up with the fanciest of firsts and mosts because it fills me that much more with gratitude for the hand-me-downs that always seem to come when we wear our humility. Because it gives us more opportunities to say thank you and fewer to pat ourselves on the back. Because what we have is enough…because it has to be.

I thank God for my lack of domestic divinity because our horrific working conditions are actually ideal for our professional play. The disaster is the evidence of their indescribably important work that is happening all around me, every moment of every day.

I thank God that I rarely have the answers because it shows my little people what it looks like to cry out for help, to fall to my knees and be weak, because that is the only real professional development worth our time anyways. And each time I am privileged to hear them call out, “Please Lod. Please help me,” I thank Him for every last shameful –est that led me to my knees enough to be their example.

This is my dream job! And I am pretty darn good at it. Not because I am the coolest, the prettiest, the funniest, the best in any way. But because in it, I get to give my people the only lesson I really have worth teaching…

…an authentic love of life and learning that can only come from a willingness to fail again and again and again, and the audacity to just keep getting back up.

Oh…and they can’t fire me.

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Help me avoid the morning-after-writer’s-remorse that wells from the paranoia of my signature self-shaming, by giving me your virtual nod and smile, and I will promise to divulge deeper despairs in days to come.