In 2013, shortly after graduating from Virginia Commonwealth University, I started my first office job with Fairfax County Department of Family Services. I served the community in varying capacities for two years, proving from the beginning to be a competent employee who was eager to develop professionally.

It was no secret around the office that the young new-hire was damn good at what he did. I was organized and efficient, easily dwarfing my peers’ daily output by lunch. I won’t even mention my advanced comprehension of federal policy and confidence applying it. Whoops, I guess I just did.

There was one problem, however—I wasn’t happy and I wasn’t sure why. I had done what seemed nearly impossible; I secured full-time employment that allowed me to support myself with excess income for a social life. I was actually fairing well in a job market that initially seemed especially hostile to millennials—and I was doing it with a sociology degree of all things.

In search of insight I observed my coworkers. Many were old and burnt out with empty cow-eyed gazes. Even senior staff and management personnel seemed dull and barely present, often only partially absorbing the content of any professional interaction. I grew depressed and hopeless.

“This isn’t how I want to spend MY TWENTIES”, I thought to myself as I drafted my letter of resignation. I subsequently packed my Nissan Versa and moved back to Richmond in hopes that the young urban culture would curb the existential concerns my career inspired.

Soon after my relocation I accepted employment with Henrico County Department of Social Services. Yes, you’re  absolutely right—it’s the same job. And yes, as I’m sure you can tell, I’m still unhappy. It didn’t take long for me to realize that maybe I was wrong in assuming my environment would do the heavy lifting in my journey for . . . I don’t know, actualization or something? I peered around my new office and encountered the same dreadful expressions I thought I left in a different area code.

The existential concerns followed me down the interstate to Richmond; my college town; my neverland. The realization sunk in slowly. “Fuck my precious TWENTIES, this isn’t how I want to spend my LIFE.” It occurred to me I had no desire to advance professionally with Henrico. I didn’t covet my supervisor’s position, the director’s, or even the county manager’s job. I was going the wrong way and needed to get my bearings.

I stopped drinking. Maintaining my edge is a necessary defense against complacency. I am not “working for the weekend” to party with my friends. No happy hours with co-workers. No coming home to a six-pack and Netflix. My only motivation is to correct my course even if I don’t entirely know what that means yet. My vision is blurry but gains resolution each day.

In the meantime I spend my free time making art and music while generally learning to be honest to myself about my fears and desires. I compiled a new zine this month call Unsupervised: Sticky Sketches from Work. It features eighty doodles I sketched on post-it notes with highlighters and pens throughout the career I previously detailed. The fact that I saved them for five years speaks to the desires I’ve ignored. I don’t want to be old and burnt out with an empty cow-eyed gaze.