Blonde Ambition, Or What's To Become Of Me?

So, for the third time in my 'career' I am staring down the barrel of redundancy. This time, at least, its 'voluntary' - meaning they'll offer it to a range of dispensable people. If none of the turkeys vote for this exciting early Christmas, we'll move to 'compulsary' redundancy, where they really start identifying the dead wood. To avoid the indignity of being pitched against my colleagues, I am 99% sure I will take the voluntary option when they offer it.

It's not just because I'm so so lovely, and wish to spare my colleagues their jobs, of course. It's time to move on. I'm about to publish a report, which, along with the one I published in the summer, will form a nice little portfolio of my research skills, writing style, and views on social policy. In theory, the iron is now hot, and the time is right for me to hawk this around desirable employers intoning 'One Policy Researcher, Policy Researcher for Sale' much like Harry Secombe in Oliver!.

This should be exciting. This government is very much in tune with my area of expertise, and are keen to continue chucking quite a lot of money at the under-threes. I have strong ideas on how that money should be spent. An ambitious girlie should be dancing a jig at the obvious possibilities this entails - and the redundancy is the kick in the arse I need to get moving and capitalise on the situation. But *le sigh*...lets break down this feeling of ennui, shall we?

I'm not an ambitious person. I'm sure there are people out there who would laugh their heads off at this, looking at my academic credentials, interesting job, and commitment to the field in which I work. But I'm not. I'm not interested in working 10 hours a day, or working at weekends, or taking it home with me. I like to knock off at 5.30, get home for a bit of cleaning, and put the supper on.* I don't see this redundancy as the chance to take the next step in my career, or grab some more responsibility for myself (though I like the idea of a new, bigger paycheck). Rather, I feel fearful - what if I can't find a job I like as much, which lets me leave at 5.30 pm, and doesn't seem to care if I check infertility blogs at my desk? What if I take a job that's too hard? These are not the thoughts of the thrusting young executive about town, I suspect.

(I should point out that, in the light of my baby-hungry whining somewhere down there, I'm not a frustrated housewife kicking my heels in a job until I have children. Rather, I'm so totally into the idea of me as supermum. Of course, this idea is based on my own mother, who really IS supermum (a doctor, and an amazing parent all round), and I probably won't be able to live up to it - I've long suspected she feeds off stem-cells, or some such,at night, such are her energy levels and unflagging cheerfulness. But anyway - I always plan to work.)

My friends and I are pretty academic - we went to schools and/or universities where it's assumed you'll have a glittering career, and if you don't, if you just have a job you like, and pays the bills, and might not ever get you to CEO, then, what are you, a dropout or a failure? We live in a world where your worth to your company is measured in how many hours you work - and your worth as a person correlates pretty closely too. To put it mildly, I think that's a sucker's game - an emotional trick employers play to convince you it makes sense to stay at your desk and basically work for free . Usually, I trundle along doing my work, not thinking about 'Could I ever be a manager? Does that mean I'm stuck at the same level untiI I retire?', or 'Why don't I network more? Shouldn't I be better known in my sector by now?', or 'Why an I never that stressed about my job? Why have I never worked past nine?'. But, sometimes, like right bloody buggering now, I feel like a lazy failure. Its not my fault I'm being made redundant, but it is my fault I'm not excited about it.

* I'm also partial to drinks and other excirtements after work too. I'm not a hermit.

Comments

[Sarah]

I have had zero career ambition my whole life, and consequently have always been sure to get the kinds of jobs that knock off at 5 p.m. and don't require any further thought about work until 8 a.m. the next day. Partly this is because I am one of those wannabe housewives who wants to stay home with the kids, but mainly it's because I detest the idea of killing myself during my best years at some job. If I were ever able to find true fulfillment in my employment, I might feel differently, but no career has ever had that appeal for me. I definitely work to live, not the other way around.

My husband feels similarly, but he has a slightly different perspective. He is working hard and faking ambition because his driving dream is to retire as early as possible, and that dream requires money. He is consequently prepared to sacrifice his some of his younger years on the gamble that he'll live to enjoy his retirement. He probably has a more responsible view of this than I do, because I tend to succumb to the attitude of "eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we [may] die". I like to think this is why we're a good team: he keeps me responsible, and I encourage him to blow a little money occasionally on something fun. :-)