It’s not just one job; it is a future. Your future. My future. The future of the girl who sits in class with bright eyes that will eventually be dulled by the desk job she will be thrown into.

It is a lifeline to the future and a connection to your youthful dreams of the past.

It is a hope to latch upon, with ideas filling your head of reaching your goals and being truly happy in life.

 

But happy.

So many people try to reach this state. They latch upon religions, friends, family, cultures in society.

People try to latch onto jobs to find themselves happy for once.

What part of a job is it that makes you happy? Not the stimulated smiles, but a true and sincere happiness that flows like liquid gold through your heart and into your veins.

What causes that pure joy? Is it the money? The actions? Is it the idea of helping yourself, or the idea of helping those who need it?

 

Doctors.

Helping everyone, playing a crucial part within every life across the world.

Scientists.

New techniques and pills and processes being developed every day in labs around the world

It is not just one job; it is holding the lives of the present and the future generations within the palms of your shaking hands as you test the same thing over and over again in the hopes of new results.

Saving lives, helping people, helping the world with wide eyes and shaking hands as you explore the unknown in hopes of finding a new discovery.

 

But it’s just a job.

It doesn’t matter if you save lives, or what you do to get money.

It is a job.

That’s all it is when it comes down to it.

An occupation. In reality, who likes their job? You hear it all the time. Being stuck at a desk and difficult bosses, comedic relief from the main character on television sitcoms.

 

            Bosses yelling

       +   Difficult work hours

       +   Spiteful Coworkers

___________________________________

            All equal a lifestyle that all can relate their own lives to

            All attract the viewers towards their scripted lives, thinking that their lives are all one in the same.

 

Why hatred?

Hate tears you apart, ripping you apart both mentally and physically until you are left with nothing but a dark heart and a mind with all of the creativity stripped out of it until you are just a product of society, walking dully through the crowds of people that are just like the new you.

But no.

Your bosses do not make you unhappy

Your paycheck does not make you sad

Sitting at a desk does not tear your soul apart.

What kills you inside is not being able to reach those dreams.

 

Those childhood dreams that you’ve had your sights on your entire life.

When you were a child and played doctor, doing surgery on your stuffed animals and plastic dolls in the hopes of saving future lives.

When you took care of stuffed dogs

When you played in your plastic kitchen with your plastic toys and plastic customers

Don’t you look back onto that when you were innocent, joyful?

 

Dreams change.

They do, we all have come to know this.

At four she wanted to be a princess.

With a spinning gown and sparking crown with a dashing prince by her dainty side.

But she was told that it wouldn’t happen—there are no princes in America that can save you from your life.

No jewels and silk gowns for you, little girl.

Your dreams are dead and so is a little part of you.

 

At seven she wanted to be a ballerina.

With a thin and delicate body, toes pointed as her body spins like a top

Never stopping as they leap throughout the air as if gravity had never existed at all.

But she was too clumsy, too curvy, too short. Her arms were not like snapping twigs, but were like molding clay.

You can’t be a ballerina.

Your body would never allow it.

 

At twelve she wanted to be an astronaut

Flying through the stars and bouncing around the moon like it was a trampoline.

But she failed that science test,

And her mother yelled

‘How would you be something like that?

That is for smart people.

Stupid.

You are stupid.’

 

Years of disappointment have passed.

She sits at her office cubicle now, with dull eyes and a tight ponytail.

Now, what do you think killed her inside?

What do you think dulled her creativity?

Not her boss, not her cubicle.

She wasn’t dulled by the coffee in the morning or her robotic family in the neighborhood that looks all the same.

She was dulled by the loss of her hope.

By the constant correction by adult figures.

She was dulled by the roadblocks that stopped her from reaching her dreams.

Her want to save people.

My want to save people.

 

If I could have one thing

If I could be one thing

I would help.

Save them.

Save you.

I wouldn’t become one of the robots, I would be new. Innovative.

I would break this barrier.

I would be happy.