Who let me work? | Memoir Monday #24

I've never worked a proper day job.

I've never been attracted to it, and based on what I'm hearing from my friends and from acquaintances in the corporate/9-to-5 world, I stand by that initial impression.

I started working at 17, looking after children in the local homeschooling community and teaching them English. I don't remember why I did it. I wasn't particularly pressed for money at the time. I think I wanted the responsibility, the ability to say I'm taking charge, I'm learning to stand on my feet.

It wasn't a big deal, but it proved to be a very educational experience for me. I love kids and being around little ones helped ground me in the typical chaos of 17-year-old dramas. I learned a lot about life and parenting from the people I worked for. And I was fortunate to work for kind, intelligent, generous people. I've heard some nightmare stories, but it certainly wasn't my experience.

My working life so har has been a string of regularly wondering, in awe, who the hell was crazy enough to leave me in charge. I look back at the teenagers I was trying to teach at the time, and it seems bananas. I was clueless. Not on English, but on how you teach anything to anyone. I pulled through. I sat and talked psychology with them, and seeing me as slightly older than them, they went with it. It worked for a while.

Would you trust her with a job?

The little ones, I owed to the parents' gut instinct that I was a good, reliable person. I am. But I was also so lost. I'd be left mostly alone with two young kids, but sometimes one of the parents would hang around. Not to watch me, they were very laidback, but just doing their thing in the other room. My stomach used to just ball up into knots. It sounds silly now, but I really felt like I was walking a tight-rope there at the time.

Now, I kept thinking. Now, they're gonna realize what a fraudster I am, and never call me back again. I think the thought of disappointing them bothered me most. Again, it wasn't big money and I wasn't reliant on it, so it wasn't like these people fire me, there's nothing to eat tomorrow. I just wanted to make a good impression. I did, but at the time, I was very stressed about it.

You never forget the first thing you bought with your own money, they say, except I can't remember mine. I know I had my backpack stolen one time, when I was 18, and lost my beloved Kindle. And I know I bought a new one with some bonus money these people had paid me for Christmas or Easter or something a little while before. I still use that Kindle, and it's always the one thing I remember buying with my own money. I think I also paid for a small trip or perhaps music festival tickets. The little joys that make up 17-year-old freedom.

Then, at about 19, I went into freelance work. I didn't want to. I remember being horrified of the prospect, at the time. What about my freedom? When would I write? I didn't want to be working for the Man. However, needs must and I did what needed doing.

I've never bought into the whole "honest day's work" mindset. I think work can teach you certain valuable traits and I think it's an important experience, particularly when you're very young. It gives one the feeling that they can walk their own path and take care of themselves. It teaches responsibility and how to interact with other human beings in a way we're not prepared for in childhood.

However, I don't agree with these people who insist you need work, that all young people need to go into the working world to become adults or who tend to idolize and revere the constant suffering and injustice of the traditional corporate or grueling 9-to-5 sphere. They're people who look down on you for not working or for working your own hours, for somehow being outside the norm. So much as I appreciate my working experience, I loathe such people.

I was lucky when I started out freelancing, too. I remember this older Romanian gentleman found my profile and took me under his wing. Would place orders that I expect I fulfilled rather poorly for which he would overpay and leave me glowing reviews to help me. I don't know if it was a pay-it-forward kind of thing or why he did it, but I was always grateful for that.

Gradually, I started getting regular work and establishing good relationships with my clients. It was useful, since I'm very stubborn. I made it a point of telling people to go to hell if they were rude in some way or tried to talk down to me. It's a very affirming experience, one I think people in the corporate world don't necessarily have. You need to remind yourself you deserve a certain behavior and upwards, that you don't need to put up with everything, and that if you don't stand up for yourself, nobody will.

During the pandemic, I worked for a local outlet run by a politician. It was another one of those who or why am I here instances. The luck of being lovely and cute and 20 years old. I remember the first article I sent him, he paid me a full month in advance so I could "treat myself to some fancy wine". I got away with writing bullshit about face creams, theater I enjoyed and other rambles for 2 years. It was great.

Working early and without the long drawn-out process of slaving for a degree taught me a few things, first and foremost that I am capable. Now, whenever I work myself into a frenzy over money, I remind myself I did what needed doing and we somehow pulled through when I was a kid and with far fewer resources (emotional, hands-on world experience etc.) than I've got now. I remember I'm gonna be fine.

And it's a valuable thing to know, one that I see a lot of young people, trapped in this eternal rat race, this "we'll tell you what to do and who to be" are lacking. It's a tragedy.

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This is my small, 25-year-old response to @ericvancewalton 's #MemoirMonday prompt, asking about first jobs. You should check out the initiative here, and maybe throw in your own two cents' worth? What's to lose?