Today I'm feeling a bit "venty" - not like "venti" from Starbucks, but more like I want to vent about something because I have a bee in my bonnet that won't stop buzzing.
I'd like to talk about jobs. Work. What we do for a living.
When I graduated from college way back when the only email you had was AOL and everyone was on dialup Internet access and "social media" meant an AOL chatroom, I thought "having a job" meant going to an office (or in my case, a newsroom) for 40+ hours a week.
And that's what I did. I took the first job I was offered at a small town newspaper in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania. And I hated it. Let me rephrase that: I loved that I was getting paid to write. I hated where I worked. My boss was the devil's right hand man.
Then, when I was in law school (yeah, I have a law degree too) I thought I wanted to be a lawyer because it would be like Ally McBeal and it would be fun.
And then I realized that was crazy talk.
Plus, I failed the bar exam.
So, I started working at an 8-to-5 job as an association executive and I had the chance to use the undergraduate journalism degree, but only because I sort of forced them to let me do communications work. (And because my boss was a sexist pig who didn't think a woman could handle contract negotiations with union construction workers but could totally handle marketing issues).
That 40-hour-a-week gig was not so great. Strike one for the "office job."
In the years since then I've had some other "office" jobs too - like the time I worked as an editor in a marketing department at a university and loved it, or the time I worked as a communications manager for the Green Polyester Trolls and hated every minute of it. (That particular job would count as strike two AND three for "office jobs").
And then last year I started working from home.
As in, my office is AT HOME in our fourth bedroom.
And I am a writer.
Hi. My name is Traci and I'm a writer.
I work at home and eat cereal for lunch.
And no, I don't mean that I "like to write" and have this blog and therefore I think I'm a writer. I mean my job that pays me a salary is that of a writer. I write at least 25 articles every single week. From home. Hell, check out my LinkedIn profile if you want further proof.
But apparently some people think this means I don't have a "real job" because I'm not going into an office every day so I can sit at a desk for nine hours. That my friends in INSANE. You don't need an office in a building to have a real job. My sister is a (damn fine) hairstylist and she has a real job. She sets her own hours and pays for her "office space" (her booth) and yeah, that's a real job.
My point in all this rambling is this - don't assume that just because someone doesn't work AT an office every day means they don't have a "real" job. In this day and age, you can work from just about anywhere. And yeah, I might joke about my work clothes being yoga pants and I might even work in my pajamas on some days, but I do have a real job.
I am a writer.
And I work from home.
And I love every minute of it.