Esperate

I keep waiting not to be afraid. I remember being bold, telling people what I'm gonna do and nicely defining how things are going to turn out. I keep waiting on that voice in the back of my head whispering its cynicism beneath my dream to silence itself. I keep trying to master the doubtful anxiousness that tells me even if I'm highly qualified there's still a possibility I might not get what my pride tells me is mine. I keep yearning for that exuberant joy to fill me the whole week

Oftentimes I put on, but I'm anticipating the moment when the real will spill over into the carefully composed facade I have come to wear along with my uniform's hat. I hate it.
Yes, one of my places of employment requires me to wear a hat as part of our dress code. So you can imagine what kind of environment I earn some of my livelihood in. Yes, I'm good at what I do there.

But I'm a liar. I smile and get awards for working double, sometimes triple hard to try to get ahead. I'm up for a promotion and I keep waiting for that to not make me nervous. But it does. That hateful little voice inside me tells me the promotion would just be a dangling of bait to keep me in the same stagnate space of life. Admittedly, it's a dead end job. There is no true advancement opportunity when my only "growth in the company" just glorifies the job I already have and adds extra responsibility.

I'm not interested in making this place my career. And this place is not interested in helping get to the next stage in that quest to do fulfilling work. I'm leaving soon, call it my grand exit from an abusive relationship. But the fear of the unknown, the same thing they are training me to prepare the children for is a shared anxiety of ours. I'm scared of breaking a routine that I hate. What's wrong with me? I'm afraid and I keep waiting not to be.