My day job is a night job. My aim is to turn my sales job into my day job, but until my commission check is more than $2500 per month, I need the night job. When I reach my $ threshold, the night job disappears, leaving me with the day job, ie: my sales job.
Is that clear? Good.
Night work is stressful, not least because the body is designed to sleep when the sun’s down. The constant fight against our biology stresses our system, leading, over the long term, to more illness and, eventually, a shorter lifespan.
It’s interesting that my working life has almost all been about shift work. At the airline, the hours where whatever the schedule determined. Not only were we flying at night, but the constant changes of time zone, the east-to-west shuffle, made any kind of circadian stability a dream. Worst of all were the night flights beginning at the time one’s body was ready for bed: departing Honolulu for Sydney, for example, or Singapore to London. Those flights I do not miss one. little. bit.
In terms of stress, my current job is probably on a par with the big piloting gig. Sure, the flying hours were stupid, but there were sufficient days off and enough money to compensate. My job now doesn’t pay at all, and has minimum time off, but requires basically no mental input, and has a nice fixed schedule. The latter makes a lot of difference, but not enough to make me want to continue a second longer than I have to.
Last week I spent the night with a new guy, doing a little “training”. The term is a joke, because the company doesn’t pay the trainer extra, nor train him to train the trainee. And in the end, everyone has to learn by the experience, so in fact, there’s very little actual knowledge being imparted.
The guy, Scott, a forty-something biker-type dude, was maybe the most stressed man I have ever met. His life was a country tune ie: his wife left him, one of his daughters left him, they both took all his money, he wanted so bad to be back in Michigan, etc. Oh, and he had zero cash until the next paycheck (two weeks away) and no cigarettes. Holy Penguins, could it get any worse?
The answer to that of course, is, yes, life can get much worse even than that. From minute to minute though, his main concern was getting cigarettes, which strikes me as an entirely avoidable problem. Indeed, the giant life-stress he was putting himself through was entirely avoidable, by doing what I’m doing, which is to create myself a residual income. Living at the behest of nicotine, an employer, a paycheck or an ex-spouse – these are conditions that need never affect you.