The Psychological Torture of Office Jobs

And the lowest moments of mine.

My lowest moment wasn’t getting berated by a boss over filling in some unspecified ‘status report’.

It wasn’t being stuck on a particular technical issue that I was pulling my hair out and stressed to the max, trying to resolve.

It wasn't the endless meetings about meetings — I was also lucky enough, or junior enough, to have been part of organizations that cut the needless bs.

It wasn't even being stuck at the office late at night doing something I cared little about; although this was a rarity in my four years— it would certainly have become more commonplace should I have further climbed that greasy pole.

All of these factors played their part. Falling into a career path because that’s where all the jobs are, is never a sufficient motive.

No, the lowest of lows was the dead time — when there was nothing to do.

Situated in a high rise in London, center of the rat race — or so it felt. With nothing to do but stare at the clock on the desktop in front of me. I thought: Is this it?

Or look out the window. At the opposing office suite. Two others around my age happened to sit across the way. They looked busy. Rarely looking out the window themselves. Often absent from their desks for long stretches. Probably at meetings — again, they were busy.

But they also looked stifled as human beings.

My legs ached from needing to be stretched. Yearned to do what they were supposed to do. I can accept not living in the trees, climbing, running, jumping, but I can’t accept anything. I needed movement.

Well, get up for a walk I hear you say.

I did that.

There comes a point where one’s bathroom excursions become noticeable.

And did I mention the tie? It was squeezing at my throat, as it always did. I could never understand the need for what is effectively a rope around your neck, to look professional for clients you either don't even see or who don't even care whether one is worn or not.

All of this swirled around my mind because I had nothing to do. I pity those in the same boat. It is capitalism gone wrong.

Of course, working from home the past year alleviated many of the psychological tortures above. And work did turn out to be somewhat busier down the line. However, the core issue remains — a lack of interest and movement. And the aforementioned dead time never fully leaves.

Over four years the lowest of lows was certainly the psychological torture of having nothing to do. Call it a privilege — and maybe it is. Yet, if anything can be salvaged from the ashes of the education I sat through, for the career I am now leaving behind, it’s that one needs to think for themselves and live how one thinks life ought to be lived.

Even if that means doing difficult stuff.

It most certainly means doing difficult stuff.