Bekka Thomas - Minimalism: How to Become a Minimalist (Illustrated With Bad Drawings)

I was a mess.

Not just a hot mess, but a true drag-down-the-road-behind-a-car mess. My job wasnt just a dead-end, it was a box canyon. I was miserable when I woke up until I went to sleep again, miserable. My weight and blood pressure were in a contest to see which one could be higher. My weight was winning, otherwise I would have been dead. Is that a good thing? Yea!

You know when you run down a hill and your upper body begins to fall past your feet? Your center of balance shifts and you have to keep running or fall? Thats how my life was every single day. Worst of all, I couldnt figure out how it got that way.

I was a property manager and I enjoyed my job when I first started. Im a problem-solver and I enjoy working with people, but I grew to hate both primary aspects of my job.

Not just hate my job like most people do.

My hate was a bone deep hate that was all consuming and just a wee bit insane.

The customer service aspect I liked so much, turned into people whining about the same things over and over.

I had a boss once who told me never to come to him with a problem if I didnt also have a solution. I used to think that was silly. I could then solve it myself. Of course, that was what he was getting at; he wanted me to at least try. I could be wrong, but he wanted me to think it through. My job was dealing with people who didnt seem to think even the smallest problem through. Worse yet, they constantly demonstrated that they lacked any kind of real perspective.

I actually had folks who demanded I check the security monitor on one building because there was a particular squirrel that was chewing on their tire in the garage.

Not just that squirrels might be damaging their vehicle, but a certain squirrel they wanted me to deal with.

Needless to say, I paid a different squirrel to rough the rogue up.

Another facet I loved, at the start, was troubleshooting the numerous problems that came up. However, no matter how many times I addressed a problem, my Board of Directors at the Homeowner Associations I handled only cared how long it took me to accomplish my task.

They never cared how well I handled it, just do it faster and faster.

Sure, they would never give me the money to fix things or replace broken items, but it was always my fault that the work was never done.

All of the responsibility with no authority.

I used to be able to handle these unrealistic expectations, but I slowly lost the I give a damn attitude over the several years I was a property manager.

I was working days and nights with time on the weekends, just trying to keep up. My in-box was perpetually loaded with two hundred emails at any given time. My phone was filled with unreturned voice-mails from homeowners demanding return calls. I couldnt figure out how to visit my properties, attend board meetings, return emails and voice-mails, while still trying to have a bit of a life.

I was stuffing fast food in my mouth any moment I had free as I was driving to inspections or meetings. I tried to eat right, but that takes time I just did not have. Its easier to grab a burrito or pizza, than to make a salad. My weight was growing, along with my blood pressure and stress. The sodium levels alone in fast food can kill you and thats just reading the ingredient list!

I could feel myself dying inside, but I was trapped by my life and job. The more I worked, the more I needed the job. That whole growing up with responsibilities thing sucks.

I was married to the most supportive and loving husband possible, but I was treating him badly because I had no patience any longer.

I was a very good painter and writer, but my art was going nowhere. I couldnt get into the right mindset and let go of the job. How can you create or even imagine something beautiful to put on a canvas when a homeowner, or three, explained to you that you are an idiot because you allowed earthworms to infest the property and they needed to be removed immediately? This sort of statement would be funny, if you werent barraged with similar unrealistic demands every day.

I had a boss in the same field who would just laugh, good-naturedly, when a homeowner or board member would treat him so horribly. Like water off a ducks back. They would call him the worst names possible, to his face, and he would just shrug it off. I pictured him having a stroke one day from all the repressed rage, but I think he really did have it right. He did not let the job determine who he was or his self-worth. I could never master that particular skill and I let it all eat at me.

I was horrible to my amazing husband because of feeling so trapped. I couldnt help it, I was a rat trapped in a cage and I couldnt get out. I started having anxiety attacks and would get so angry because of the feeling that I had no alternatives that I could see. I was never going to be a successful artist. I was certain I would just be that woman that died at work from a heart attack who everyone would talk about as a cautionary tale. Like Scrooge told during the office Christmas party, but with a whole lot more pathetic stuffed in.