My Office Space Mood

Professionally, I am where I aimed to be.
*clink* 🥂
From this vantage point, I realise it is a position defined by avoidance of where I didn’t want to be rather than a clear vision of where I did.
(Hint: not behind a computer in a fusty, beige office.)
I’m in a position I consider to be good, but I still get the same pangs.
They are pangs of vague dissatisfaction, of frustration. Of “wanting something different”.
I call this my Office Space Mood.
The list of what I want to do has since expanded, but the items on it are more abstract.
The usual Millennial “make a difference” is in the mix.
“Be outside more” is another. “Location independence” is still there.
There’s a vague sense of urgency underpinning the whole thing, too.
Urgency that is party circumstantial: my friends are climbing career ladders, and their earnings are climbing with them. I’ve just had a birthday, pegging me firmly in my “late twenties”.
But the urgency is mainly existential.
The planet is being ravaged, and people are way too f*ing nonchalant about it. A mental health crisis is brewing, and too many people don’t know how to approach it. The ones who do are choked by NHS inefficiency, or hiding their private treatment in ivory towers. There might not be enough money for my generation to draw their pensions. The world’s politics continue to unravel.
It feels a bit like we’re sleepwalking into multiple crises at once.
This existential urgency is the knowledge that every second sat at a computer looking at an Analytics graph, or a title tag, or a line of code, is a second that could be spend proactively trying to unf*ck the world.
Urgency itself isn’t a particularly constructive motivator; nor are nebulous aspirations particularly useful guides when thinking about what my working future will look like.
The question I end up asking in my Office Space Mood is:
What can I do with my time that I’ll be proud to tell people about when they ask what I do?
My answer is better than it’s ever been. “I’m a freelance writer and web designer”, with enough of a portfolio that it doesn’t feel like a cheeky answer any more.
It’s nowhere close to where it could be though. “I work in renewables, trying to increase the efficiency of wind turbines”, or “I take kids who’ve never been to the countryside on bike rides, and show them what it’s like outside of cities”.
This time I’m interested in making the Office Space Mood work harder; in eking out a few viable options to make a living in areas that feel constructive, valuable, and fulfilling. These outlets have been recommended to me so far:
- The National Careers Service, who “ provide information, advice and guidance to help you make decisions on learning, training and work”.
- Aspire-Gen, who “provide practical help, guidance and support about taking the next steps towards learning and work so you can realise your aspirations and dreams”
- A life coach, like my friend James, who use their life experience and knowledge to help you reshape yours.
Or, jib it all off and become a labourer.
Peter Gibbons, protagonist in Office Space, decides not to give a f*ck any more. This decision manifests in the typical way: he sleeps in late, misses work, facilitates large-scale fraud to the tune of $100,000s, then becomes a construction worker.

This is my back-up option.
