As an astrologer, I get called about employment questions all the time. Here’s the take, and you know, this stuff doesn’t necessarily apply to people based on their sign alone, although, in a consultation, I would tailor the information and delivery to suit the situation.
“I don’t like my job because….”
1> The boss hates me
2> I hate the work
3> I love the work, but hate the people
4> I love the people, but hate the work
5> It’s not what I’m trained for
6> There’s no advancement
7> Some combination of the above, or any arcane number of variables, but the basic premise is someone doesn’t like where/how he or she is earning a paycheck.
If I didn’t face this question, every day, from clients ranging in age from 17 to 67 – including all 12 astrological signs, I wouldn’t be doling out this advice.
But here it is, and it’s simple.
Look for another job. Don’t quite the job you’ve got, just look for more suitable employment. If you’re not looking, not seeking, then you’re wasting your own time being unhappy. No stars are going to change that. No planetary alignment is going to miraculously change the boss, the job, or the situation. Change requires effort on your own part. It doesn’t just land in your lap **without some effort** on your own.
In my own way, I’m rather amused by this, but I have a sick sense of humor, rather bleak and black. “I’m too tired when I get home from work to look for another job.” But not too tired to spend a lot of emotional horsepower, burn up a good portion of the evening, stuck in a pit of self-induced angst?
I don’t get it. Change it. The time spent in self-induced despair is wasted time. Time that could be spent 1> talking to your astrologer for hints on what you do next, 2> filling out job applications, 3> circulating resumes 4> answering casting calls.
My dear Leo friend fredlet did luck into a new job. She was foaming a latte at Starbucks, a customer asked if she could fulfill a tech position, and that turned into her new job. But in the year she worked at “bucky’s” I know of dozens of attempts she made to land a real job. She also successfully free-lanced along the way, too. Wasn’t glamorous, but she did it. Yes, someone walked in and hired her away from dreaded coffee machine, but in the interim, she spent a lot of time pounding the metaphorical pavement, so that could happen. I openly admire her drive.
Bubba Sean is another I admire. He’s brilliant, sometimes. He’s got a degree in broadcast [want fries with that?> journalism. He was a big-time DJ radio guy when I met him. Got laid off. He worked in a record store for years while chasing one elusive opportunity after another. One day, he lucked into a good gig. Life is wonderful again. But when he was working in the record store, he kept looking. The lad gets lots of credit for that.
There’s another variation on this theme, the “artiste” scenario. “But I’m a writer/poet/screen writer/play write/graphic artist/designer/actor/actress/director/filmmaker/artist! Why can’t I be paid for what I do best?” You can. I tend to judge folks against a simple rule about this subject: are you willing to work at a gas station, pumping gas, [foaming cappuccinos, stocking record> until the artist thing pays off? If so, then do so. If not, then you’re only a dilettante, not the real thing.
As a writer, I tend to look at success stories I’m aware of; one is Stephen King, working on his nightmare until he had a best-seller, subsidiary movie rights and so forth. He taught school for a while, until his writing thing paid off. The other weird tale is William Gibson, one of the progenitors of modern Science Fiction, and one of my favorite authors. His first major novel, the ground breaking “Neuromancer” was allegedly written on typewriter. [Historical notes: \\Neuromancer\\ was first published in 1984, it’s not like computers were very advanced then, and the novel was the first of a new movement in post-punk modern fiction; it’s credited with starting the “cyberpunk” movement hence the funny juxtaposition of its roots being on a typewriter.>
This astrology stuff doesn’t do one bit of good for you, if you don’t take some action. Do something. Sitting at home and staring at the trailer’s wall results in nothing.
I could do some fund raising, court some venture capital, open up a bigger office, print up some fancy stationary, solicit advertisers and sponsors, hire technicians, managers, receptionists, and so on, and make this “astrofish.net” thing a big deal. Or, I can, like I do now, support it through readings and odd jobs, and keep a firm hand on the direction of my material. Ultimately, the responsibility is all mine. I kind of like my low-key, low-tech approach. Home base is trailer in South Austin; I get to do what I want, as I want, and I don’t have to exchange any portion of my soul for what I do.
My redheaded Cap friend came by Monday afternoon for our usual fair-weather walk. We had to detour so I could drop my tax form in the mail. I was talking about the employment issue, my take on it, and she started to relate her version of it to me, “Here, let me tell you a story,” she said.
“A guy is passing front of this house. On the porch, there’s a man and an old dog. The old dog is whimpering, obviously in pain. The passerby asks what’s the problem. The old man replies, ‘The dog is laying on an rusty nail, must hurt like hell.’ The passerby asks why the dog doesn’t move, and the man replies, ‘The pain to change isn’t as great as the pain to remain’.”
