The future I dread is being a dead-eyed employee, pale from all my life being sucked out by a company
I have this recurring nightmare where I’m sitting in a corner office in a high-end corporate job. I make a ton of money, I know important people, and I’m doing great. More than great; one could say I’m on the fast-track to immense success. However, I’m actively selling my soul as I do it. It’s as if I’m the Sustainability Head at Anthropic or Palantir. Money is money though, right?
I always wonder, “oh god, is that really going to be me?” Eyes of a dead fish, lips stretching into a fake smile, toothy and bloodless, and high heels sharp enough to puncture skin and draw blood. Money runs the world, and yet, the last thing I want is to be making a lot of money in a world further away from my passions and my morals.
I feel it slipping in, though, every now and then. The thought of a jobless future is one I dread entertaining. It creates a pit in my stomach, hollow enough to make me retch and fall sick. But if I’m poor, who knows if I’d be able to afford the expenses, both mental and physical? Who knows if I’ll get to wear the clothes I like, wastefully indulge in lavish desserts, and hoard books that I’ll never read? Who knows if I’ll get to do what I want or live how I like?
Most of all, what will my parents think of me? How will I live with myself?
The crux of it is, I’m not sure if all of this is worth it. I’m balancing a job, academics, work-study, internship, and extracurriculars all at once. All these elements are different from each other and are rewarding. I haven’t ever been someone who gets involved in community, but I thought it was time to take action, and it has been surprisingly enjoyable.
When I organize events and newsletters for my work-study or check out operationalizations and deadline deliverables for my clubs or my job, I get this sense of childish giddiness. Here I am, leveraging my connections, racing from one side of the campus to another to get to meetings, living like an adult. I am who I thought a college student would always be, and it is everything. I know people and people know me. Well, some version of me who is harried, yet bright and determined.
And yet, I still do not feel truly fulfilled. Once I finish my tasks, the satisfaction only lasts for so long. Chasing that momentary high, I keep applying for more and more positions. My resume keeps growing, like stocks in a gambler’s hands, and I bet my time every time, throwing more and more so that the buzz of business and creativity is so loud my eyes grow blind with to-do lists.
In fact, my time is stretched so thin that it has begun to press against my skin; blood vessels staining my nose as I burn the midnight oil to write more and more emails and essays, the hours growing longer and longer by the day. The nightmare creeps around the shadows of my room, monstrous, yet all too real.
At some point, I have to stop and wonder whether this is what I’ll do forever. Is this it? I am so busy I can barely breathe, but give my mind just a single moment of rest, and it starts spiralling. A life this filled should feel fun, but surely there’s more? Surely I’ll do something eventually that will satiate my appetite and quench the thirst in my soul. Maybe I’m hungry for more, or maybe I’m just 22. Maybe I’ll itch at my skin until I feel something real, or maybe I need time to breathe.
Life is long, and I forget that sometimes. Work is work is work. Whether it’s academics, after-school clubs, or a job, I have enough on my plate as is. But if I hate it, at some point the itch will be strong enough that I’ll just rip my face off, and do whatever I want to do. At some point, my face will creep back in, epidermal layer by layer, and maybe this time it’ll be facing something I’m more satisfied with.
Work. The sleep I sacrifice has to be worth a finer reward than just more money, right?