I did my weekly check-in phone call with my dad today. A mixture of prolonged lack of sleep and stress from my job made me sound even more down and monotoned than usual, despite my efforts to mask it. And what was my dad's response when I gave him those excuses for my tone? "Good, it's good that they're working you to the bone." He continued his speech in this manner as if my twenties should be spent couped up with long hours at the office, eagerly working away to earn the respect of my co-workers and overseers. The words of the lecture didn't bother me so much as the tone of them: I could really hear the pride in his voice, as if finally I was in the real world, living my life - a sort of bourgeois rite of passage I suppose. My dad has always upheld the work hard, play hard ethic to life, embracing fifty-hour work weeks and beer-filled, crazed weekends. I don't mean to doubt that my enjoyment of life isn't important to him, but he's unwilling to realize that what worked for him is not right for me. His happiness is not mine. The miscommunication is more my fault than his, but I know that any personal statement I make in contradiction to his philosophy will only be taken with reproach. So per usual, I choose silent disobedience.
On the other hand, when I was home last and my mom inquired about the details of my job, I decided to be candid with her and expressed my dissatisfaction and lack of desire to continue in my chosen profession. She immediately became stern with me and told me to suck it up because nobody likes their job, as if her unhappiness meant inevitable unhappiness for everyone. She went on further about the importance of steady income, health insurance, and continued to stubbornly debase my apprehensions by calling them naive and foolish. We tend to be in a constant, uninhibited feud over my ideals, and although we usually come to a stand still on the verbal banters, my inability to act upon my more prominent beliefs give her grounds over me.
These two constant, opposite though equally opposing forces matched against my frail will makes my path seem less surprising. Too well, I see both their reasons and good intentions, despite my invariable disagreement.
On the other hand, when I was home last and my mom inquired about the details of my job, I decided to be candid with her and expressed my dissatisfaction and lack of desire to continue in my chosen profession. She immediately became stern with me and told me to suck it up because nobody likes their job, as if her unhappiness meant inevitable unhappiness for everyone. She went on further about the importance of steady income, health insurance, and continued to stubbornly debase my apprehensions by calling them naive and foolish. We tend to be in a constant, uninhibited feud over my ideals, and although we usually come to a stand still on the verbal banters, my inability to act upon my more prominent beliefs give her grounds over me.
These two constant, opposite though equally opposing forces matched against my frail will makes my path seem less surprising. Too well, I see both their reasons and good intentions, despite my invariable disagreement.
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