Contented
is such a funny word. When you say youâre contented, youâre either humble or just low. As Iâve noticed, most of my friends arenât contented in what they are doing now in life, which then makes me ponder of the contentedness I have been feeling for the past eight months.
Eight months ago, I landed a job in a place I have never been before but have heard good things about. It was not my dream job, nor did it shower me cash. It was an OK work â it wasnât too hard or too easy. And honestly, with the nature of my employment and the people I work with, I donât see myself leaving in the next three years. There, I said it.
I knew it wasnât going to be as exciting as a TV magazine show coordinator that I prayed of pursing when I was a freshmen in college or as a flight attendant that I, dear God, dreamed of becoming since I was seven years old. My job as an editorial assistant runs like a routine, although I get to learn new things every since day â the main reason I donât wish to be dead due to boredom from work.
So yes, I am contented. This should make me feel good about myself because I have found something to grow to and with, but with my peers jumping from one job to another, staying makes me feel like Iâm settling for less. I donât know.
A/N: Iâve reviewed this post from this point, and it just doesnât make sense anymore so Iâll stop. This writing clearly matches my train of thought right now â everythingâs just all over the place. Anyway, I am happy and I hope you are too. I hope, as well, that I am on the right track, just making the most of my time. But no one will ever really know, right?
