I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you do for a living. You may have told me once and somewhere in your description I got bored and started thinking about what I was going to say next. Or I just don’t understand what you meant. It’s my fault if it’s the latter, but, sorry, all yours if it’s the former.
Tell me again. What do you do for a living? It’s usually the second question asked in any social setting or introduction. If I yawn or look blankly through you, then tell me what you really want to do. Also, please give me your card, because inevitably someone else will ask me what you do when I tell a story involving you. I hate not knowing, I really do. I feel the need to study my friends’ LinkedIn profiles, because I never remember what exactly their job entails. There should be a “Take Your Grown Friend to Work Day” to help explain it all. About ten years ago I actually e-mailed a survey to my friends asking them to write about their jobs and their future goals/plans. Do any of you remember that? (Let’s be honest, those friends don’t read my blog.)
But here’s the kicker, I don’t want you to ask me what I do. Which goes against one of my biggest social faux pas. It’s a real annoyance when a person you’re talking to doesn’t ask you any questions about yourself. You know the type. You ask them, but they don’t reciprocate.
Ask me other things. Ask me what I like. But don’t ask me what I do.
Because it’s hard to explain. No, that’s not true. It’s just that you’ll ask me (or wonder) if/how much I get paid for it. And I don’t, really.
So then, should I just say I’m a work-at-home dad and not worry about the other part? Not worry about what you think? Or more accurately, how I worry about what you must think of me?
It’s why I don’t like to go out sometimes and meet new people. I used to excel at that, I really did. I’d make my rounds and meet everyone in the room at a party. I’d introduce myself and remember your name. We’d have a laugh.
Now, not so much. I try. Sometimes I’m back in my element. Maybe when I’m on stage or when I’m older than the people I’m hanging out with socially I’m fine.
It’s probably more of an issue when I try to keep up with the Joneses that are my age, the ones with the really green grass.
I’ve been sitting on this draft for a while, afraid to post it for the possible misreading of its tone. I keep coming back to it. I know I want to just get it out of my head. I should just go to bed earlier. Things are always better in the morning than when you think too much about your problems alone at night.
If interested in my dilemma, know this is a companion piece to: Are you wanted to be when you grew up?
Do you know what your friends do?
Would it be better to know what they want to do?