When I was younger, I saw life as a formula: go to school, get good grades, go to college, get a good job…and then things would be okay.
While this belief has the potential to carry shame, for me, it gave me a sense of comfort. I felt like I was working toward an end goal, knowing that a new season was awaiting me on the other side of what I was enduring. In high school whenever I struggled socially, I told myself that college would be a new chance to meet new people, and in many ways it was. I gained confidence and made genuine friends. But college also brought depression, and by senior year I was convinced that I needed a new start: a full-time job, new city, and a chance to rediscover myself.
And honestly, once I moved to Kansas City a little less than four years ago, life did improve. I loved having my own apartment, and my adult job gave me financial freedom to live life on my own terms. I rediscovered my love for running, found a safe church home, and started volunteering for a cause that gave me purpose.
Yet I wasn’t happy. I hated my job.
When I vented to friends, I consistently heard the same advice: work is just one small part of life, balance is key, and I should focus on finding meaning outside of work.
Clearly, this comes from a good place, but it often left me feeling guilty. It sometimes felt like an accusation that I was too obsessed with work when I complained, and that I was failing to focus on what really matters. Considering I spend a lot of time focused on hobbies and relationships, I just have never felt this was the case.
I saw friends with more work and less pay and compared myself with them. Yes, my job was high pressure and stressful, but there were plenty of slow stretches. I wondered why I couldn’t be more grateful. How many people would trade their jobs with me?
Unfortunately, sickness, stress, and burnout led me to quit my job, and I’ve been forced to heal without my adult badge of “software engineer for Oracle.” I’ve come to realize that I liked having that title, and it gave me a sense of adulthood: that I was stable, secure, and responsible.
That identity is especially ironic because if I had stayed, I likely would’ve found myself in the crosshairs of the mass layoffs, as many of my old colleagues did, meaning security was always a myth.
A big issue is that I lacked a sense of meaning and purpose in my role. My work was staring at a computer screen, and meetings were filled with corporate speak. I felt fake when I enthusiastically spoke about meeting company metrics. And more than anything, I didn’t see the underlying purpose in my role. Technically I was supporting hospital clients, but day-to-day I felt evaluated on my ability to play corporate respectability politics.
I’m not surprised that I wasn’t happy. I felt trapped in a game of reputation management, and I, in particular, don’t deal well with that. It wore on my nervous system and stripped me of my confidence. Ordinary interactions with colleagues made me nauseous and sent me spiraling into panic attacks.
Months ago I overcorrected when I stated enthusiastically, “I’ll pursue only what makes me happy,” and that’s not always realistic. We have to make money somehow, and often that means jobs that aren’t particularly meaningful or fulfilling.
That being said, I do now believe that a well-paying job won’t always lead to “being okay.”
It’s not nothing, but it sure as hell isn’t everything.
Michelle Ferdinands (’22) graduated from Calvin University with degrees in mathematics and computer science. She lives in Kansas City and works as a software engineer. She loves to run and read, and she’s always up for an adventure.
