Selling My Soul

In order to work for Corporate America, I have to sell my soul.

The archetypal Devil appears before me (he always looks like a red, horned version of my father--is that weird?): His goatee splits into a wide grin.  His clawed hands hold a nefarious blue pen (I don't like black ink). His other hand holds a scroll, which he unravels with a flourish.

"Sign here," he says to me. "if you DARE. . .bwah ha ha ha."

And I, like the little lost girl in just about every movie with a Devil in it, lean over and scrawl my name onto the parchment.

The ink flashes; it sears the parchment. when my eyes clear, I see my name has been burned into the document.

Manacles snake out from the floor. They close on my wrists, pull me down into a sitting position. They press my hands to a keyboard. Grey padded walls loom up around me. Industrial berber carpet slides in under my feet.  I scream: "No-o-o. . ."

Yeah, that's how it is.  I have a day job "greenwashing". Greenwashing is like whitewashing a business with an environmentally-friendly sheen, when the rest of the company works to turn valuable resources into products that you don't need that it can sell you. I find loopholes. I find ways that well-intentioned environmental rules should not apply to a company. I gather compliance information when we can't get out from under a regulation, but only after I have thought up every conceivable way it might not apply.

And I'm damn good at it.

I drive to work, either in our car or on the moped. I'm working on the electric bike so I can ride my bike to work, but right now the hills are too damn steep for me to ride up.

I buy clothes so I can look decent at my job.

I spend hours in front of the TV, trying not to wish my life away one workweek at a time.

Yes, I also work on this blog, and several others. I'm actively growing our new businesses. I'm actively working on our careers. But most of the time, I'm living a lie in the corporate world. I'm pretending that I want to get ahead in the rat race. I'm pretending I give a shit. I'm pretending it doesn't hurt to want to be proud of what I do, but being embarrassed by it instead. I'm pretending it doesn't rip my soul apart to be working against rules I actually believe in, to be surrounded by people who care about keeping up with the Jones' or the Kardashians or whomever else.

I'm pretending the fluorescent lights and computer screens don't exacerbate my migraines.

Now, before this goes too far into "woe is me", I'm grateful to have a job, and a well-paying one at that. I'm grateful that, if I don't get my children, I'll be able to start saving up this big ol' paycheck so we can get our land for our self-sustaining ranch/farm/hippie paradise. I'm grateful that they really like my lies. I'm grateful I'm not dependent on this company, like Chinese people often are; this company is not where I live. It can't make me a slave.

But there's something really disheartening about working against  your beliefs. I really feel like I'm selling my soul for a paycheck. If so, the paycheck is not nearly enough. Are you selling your soul?