Nowhere Chronicles (Part 1)

Three years ago, I made a decision to quit my job as a program researcher for a television network in pursuit of another career path which I hope would bring me closer to my true self.

Barely a year out of college and six months into production work, I had hardly known what I was giving up my job for. At that time, the most rational decision to make was work long enough to get promoted as a segment producer even if it meant being a contractual employee who didn’t receive any medical or social security benefits for years (most of my bosses were still contractual employees when I left.) Working conditions could get rather toxic especially for a newbie in the field. While we didn’t have to go to the office daily, being a researcher meant overseeing everything from start to finish, so I was practically working until I went to bed. Although some of my research assignments were fun and interesting—going different places and meeting popular personalities, testing beauty products to tasting unique dishes, shooting with a professional camera and making decisions that gave me a degree of artistic freedom—my enthusiasm to perform well gradually waned.

When I left my post, I convinced myself it must have been the low pay and lack of real security which drove me to search for another job, preferably a more comfortable one. Looking back, it was more than that. It must have been the people I worked with and their demanding, often complacent and unprofessional attitudes that caused my anxiety. It was inevitable because production is all about team work. Ultimately, I had this growing resentment towards my co-workers for failing to own up to their shortcomings and pointing their fingers on the easiest person or thing to blame. At the same time, knowing some form of politics will always be present in any office, I was aware moving to a different workplace wouldn’t rid me of this problem. We simply cannot choose the kind of people we can work with. Nevertheless, I found comfort in the idea of moving away.

Unfortunately for my co-workers, the introvert in me happened to dislike most of them. At first it was the act of not spending too much time with people I felt uncomfortable with. I would only deal with them when my work required me to. I usually had lunch or dinner alone. I didn’t stay in our cubicle when most of my co-workers were there. Short cigarette breaks with some members of the crew were alright. But after working with them for months, it proved difficult to draw the line between my work and personal life. I could only imagine how this was for senior researchers and producers, losing all distinction between professional and personal life, becoming used to eating, sleeping, and bathing in the office with strange people for days at a time.  

The general atmosphere was one of constant pressure to deliver; it wasn’t enough to meet the deadline, we had to be good or we’d get a mean and embarrassing remark from our producer. It was quite terrifying, to be honest. I was afraid my contract would not be renewed (which was baseless because if they really got rid of people, they should have axed half of the crew a long time ago.) Though my co-workers were just as afraid to face our producer, I figured they’ve gotten so used to her bitching that it didn’t affect their performance anymore. Most of them, I felt, did not have any real sense of sympathy for their job. It didn’t matter how they accomplished it, as long as it was done. And it didn’t matter whom I worked with, I was always left compromised. When something went wrong, they would rather put someone else under the bus. It was every man for himself.

Was I able to rise above the expectations, deal with unprofessional co-workers? I think so. I knew it was only a matter of time until I got promoted and received better salary. Given the nature of the work, I wasn’t the only person thinking of resigning. In fact, a few were already leaving at the time, and staying there guaranteed I’d get dibs on a better post. However, by then even this thought did not ease my anxiety.

I was uncertain of a lot of things, but I was sure working in production or media in general wasn’t the right career for me. I couldn’t imagine myself doing that kind of work for the next twenty or so years. Underneath all the rationalizing, what I really hoped to find was something closer to who I was. It wasn’t that I didn’t like shooting features or writing scripts. Apart from struggling with difficult people, it just came to a point where the stresses outweighed what made production work interesting and meaningful. So, I thought: If I was going to do something for the rest of my life, it had to be something I was really interested in and passionate about. It had to be something worth doing. If a career would require me to associate with people I’m uncomfortable with (which frankly means everyone) and if it would demand so much of my life, I must do something I truly love. So, what is it? I had to ask myself that.

The most frightening thing wasn’t that I didn’t know; it was the fact that I actually had an idea what it was. Somewhere inside, I knew. I didn’t understand what I was going through, so I shrugged it off for a while longer. I didn’t really know what to do with what I wanted.