Money Can't Buy ... This

I’ll turn in my sixteenth column this week.

When I was offered the chance to have my own weekly column, I was so excited. My friends were so excited. My family was so excited. My bartender at the restaurant where I worked was so excited.

Then I told my boyfriend.

His responses: 1.) “How much will you get paid?” 2.) “Ouch.” 3.) “That’s like half a day’s work for me.”

I’ve told you how annoying hindsight is, right? I swear, at the time, I thought he was the most supportive and uplifting person…

Cut to a month or so after that conversation, when I was watching his dog for the weekend while he snowboarded with his friends (again, yes, hindsight).

Two things worth noting.

One. He left me a thank-you note with $100 in cash on the kitchen counter. (Yes, I thought this was strange. My friends thought it was very strange. My family thought it was very, very strange. My bartender at the restaurant where I worked thought it was very, very, very strange. -- “What, did he just leave it out on the dresser for ya?” he asked. “He may as well have,” I responded).

Two. His W-2 form was on the kitchen table. I wasn’t spying, really. I was actually looking for a scrap of paper to write on. But once I’d seen it, there was no pretending that I hadn’t. There it was, in black and white: In the previous year, I had made more waiting tables than he did at his landscaping position.

Much more, in fact.

Imagine if we had known each other a year earlier – do you think I ever would have mentioned a single word about how little he made?

Answer: No.

But let me get to the point.

When I visualize my Dream Job, I don’t see an overflowing bank account. I don’t see gloss or glitz. I can’t train myself to think in monetary terms.

This explains why I was a criminally horrible waitress. Any successful server knows that you have to see dollar signs on the foreheads of your patrons – you have to visualize the bills they’ll pull out of their wallets to get past the fact that they’re being jerks and treating you horribly.

I couldn’t do this. I could never see a jerk with a dollar sign tattooed on his temple. I could only see … a jerk, a rude jerk unworthy of the time or effort it would take for me to look past his jerkiness.

If I had loved waiting tables, I wouldn’t have cared how little I was making.

I never loved waiting tables.

I’ve always loved writing.

Writing is not glamorous and don’t let anyone ever fool you into thinking it is. But writing is, in my opinion, the best job, the greatest job, the only job worth getting up every day and clawing my way out of the dirt for. It is fun, gratifying, challenging, stimulating and life-affirming.

A Dream Job, to me, isn’t a number. A Dream Job, to me, is an opportunity to meet new people every week – people who inspire me with their accomplishments and attitudes and make me feel silly for ever thinking life is anything less than amazing.

A Dream Job, to me, isn’t a round of drinks or a fancy dinner you throw in someone’s face. (“Don’t be silly, Kristen. I’m the one who got the promotion. I’m the one who should pay”). A Dream Job, to me, is being given the opportunity to meet someone you really, truly, honestly admire. How many people can say that they’ve recently e-mailed a personal idol and that idol e-mailed back and agreed to an interview?

So, 98% of my income goes to necessities like bills and student loans. I can’t remember the last time I bought new jeans and I pride myself on the amount my Safeway club card saves me.

At the end of the day, do you think I ever wish I was doing anything other than exactly what I’m doing right now?

H. E. double hockey sticks no. I am proud to be a writer, happy to be a writer, amazed at the opportunity to be a writer, blessed to live in a world that allows me to be a writer.

No one will ever be able to take that away from me. It’s called a Dream Job, not an I Make More Than You Ha Ha Ha Job.

Dream: Something notable for its beauty, excellence, or enjoyable quality.
Job: A regular remunerative position.

I Make More Than You Ha Ha Ha: A state of mind reserved for insensitive souls whose material longings outweigh a basic sense of decency (Such types are apt to say things like, “How much will you make?” instead of, “Congratulations! All your hard work is paying off!”).
Job: A regular remunerative position.